


Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

by AidanChase



Series: Harry Potter: Everyone Lives AU [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 158,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5905741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidanChase/pseuds/AidanChase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn’t matter that Harry fell asleep thinking about a busy Saturday in Diagon Alley, or digging through the attic with his father, Sirius, and Uncle Remus. It didn’t matter that he went to bed with a stomach full of warm food, or that his mother tucked him into bed even though he was fourteen and he didn’t need it, but she still did it because she loved him and he loved her.</p><p>None of that mattered; the nightmares still came.</p><p>--- --- ---</p><p>How different would the world of Harry Potter be if James and Lily had lived?</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Ships not listed because I am uncertain if they will deviate from canon. Characters added as they appear.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Riddle House

**Author's Note:**

> Book Four is here! A day early because work is terrible and I am too excited about this book. I needed to post something to keep me from going mad. Also it feels weird to rate it "T" but I guess that's appropriate for Goblet of Fire.
> 
> Wonderful thanks to my beta ageofzero who takes panicked texts at all hours of the night. I wouldn't know what to do without them.

The derelict old house at the end of the road in Little Hangleton had been called “the Riddle House” longer than anyone who lived in Little Hangleton could remember, even though few who lived there had ever met someone named Riddle.

It had been over fifty years since anyone by the name of Riddle had lived in that house, ever since the elderly Mr. Riddle, Mrs. Riddle, and their son Thomas had died at dinner one evening. They’d dropped dead for no reason at all, as far as the Muggle villagers could tell.

Regulus Black, however, knew very well that Mr. and Mrs. Riddle and their son had been killed by a powerful magical spell known as the Killing Curse. Regulus Black knew first hand how effective the Killing Curse was. He’d seen it used before. A flick of the wand, in a zig-zagging motion, a spark of green light, a simple command-- _Avada Kedavra_ \--and the target would drop dead, with no discernable marks. Regulus had seen many a Muggle die this way, though he couldn’t say he’d ever used it himself. Not for lack of trying, but you had to mean a curse when you said it. Regulus Black had never had the heart to murder someone. At least, not before he’d realized what Barty Crouch, Jr. had done. 

A year ago, in what should have been a hot day at the end of July, but was so cold to him from the perpetual curse of the dementors, he’d asked the visiting Minister of Magic if he could have a look at the newspaper. He’d fully intended to cheer himself by reading about wedding announcements. He’d loved his cousin Narcissa’s wedding, and his cousin Bellatrix’s. Weddings were parties, celebrating love and uniting two souls in one pursuit. Regulus wanted a spot of that hope in his bleak life in Azkaban.

Then he’d seen the small photo of the Weasley family with a little black weasel, sitting on a young redheaded boy’s shoulder, with a tear through his tiny ear. Regulus Black had been thrown into a rage. 

He’d spent his first year in Azkaban listening to Barty’s screams of horror until they had died out when Barty died. Then he’d spent the next eleven years feeling sorry for Barty, blaming himself for getting them both thrown into Azkaban in the first place, and blaming himself for Barty’s death, only to find out that Barty had escaped.

That was the first time Regulus Black had felt like he could successfully use the Killing Curse.

He still felt that way as he looked up at the Riddle House. As sad as he felt for the Muggles that had died here, and all the Muggles that had died in the war as a result of the Dark Lord, Regulus Black knew that if he saw Barty Crouch, Jr. or Lord Voldemort he wouldn’t hesitate.

“Shall we go in?” Albus Dumbledore asked.

Regulus Black turned to the elderly wizard next to him and nodded grimly, not at all excited about the task ahead of them.

The Riddle house, grand as it was, had fallen into disrepair. Under the light of a waxing moon, Regulus and Dumbledore approached the front door and peeled away the ivy that had intertwined itself in the handles.

In an effort to ease the horror that might await them inside, Regulus said, “My mother would’ve killed a caretaker over less.”

“He’s a very old gentleman who does his best,” said Dumbledore. “And I expect we should finish our search as quickly as possible, in case he decides to interrupt us.”

Dumbledore pulled open the door of the house and stepped inside, wand at the ready. Regulus did the same.

“ _Lumos_ ,” Regulus whispered, and a small glow appeared at the end of his wand, bathing the entryway of the home in a white light.

“ _Homenum Revelio_ ,” Dumbledore said, but as far as Regulus could tell, nothing happened. “Perhaps the dining room would be the place to start?”

The dining room that the Riddle family had been killed in was the last place Regulus wanted to go, which meant it was the place most likely to have the answers they were looking for. “Yes, that seems practical,” he said. “But as the Dark Lord wasn’t the one who murdered the family--”

“As far as we know,” Dumbledore said, which meant that he suspected that Voldemort had a hand in the death of this Muggle family.

That afternoon, Dumbledore had come calling to Grimmauld Place, which was unusual. Dumbledore preferred to communicate with Regulus by owl, or, on occasion, by sending a message with the portrait Phineas Nigellus Black, who resided in a frame at Hogwarts and in a frame in one of the bedrooms of Grimmauld Place.

But this afternoon, Dumbledore had come in person, asked Sirius if he could speak with Regulus alone, and told Regulus he’d found the home of Tom Riddle’s--Voldemort’s--father. Thomas Riddle, Sr. had been murdered fifty years ago by Morfin Gaunt, a nearby resident and pureblood who hated Muggles, and Dumbledore suspected the house might hold some secrets about Voldemort. He asked if Regulus would be willing to search the house with him. Regulus had been surprised to learn that the Dark Lord had a Muggle for a father, but agreed to the excursion. He was tired of being cooped up in his mother’s house with only his brother for company.

Regulus loved his brother Sirius. He always had, even when they fell on opposite sides of a war. But sometimes it was hard to behave like he loved his brother. Sirius was loud and passionate. Regulus was quiet and reserved. They’d spent years competing with each other for their mother’s attention, which had only been a losing battle for both, as the more Sirius acted out, the more Regulus behaved. This led Sirius to believe Regulus was the favored child and he would proceed to behave worse to gain Mother’s attention, while Regulus saw all the effort his mother poured into controlling Sirius and wished she would turn her attention to him. Their conflicting natures polarized each other, and now, even as adults with no parents around, it was hard to behave civilly at times.

Now that Sirius and Regulus were forced to live together again, tensions resurfaced like rot in an old cauldron. Sirius had the benefit of disappearing whenever he liked to his friends. Regulus did not have the benefit of friends, apart from the house elf from his boyhood who still resided at Grimmauld Place.

Kreacher was the one who had nursed Regulus back to health, all those years ago, when Regulus had first betrayed the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord had used Kreacher as an experiment and Regulus could stand by no more. He’d gone after a horcrux that harbored a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul and would have died because of it if he hadn’t had Kreacher’s magic and Barty’s support.

It hurt, still, to think of Barty, even after all his anger. He hadn’t told Barty he’d betrayed the Dark Lord. He’d let Barty think he’d walked into a curse from an Auror and couldn’t go to St. Mungo’s for fear of arrest. It wasn’t until Barty told him about the night the Dark Lord had been destroyed that Regulus had accidentally let it slip in his excitement.

Barty had been Regulus’s best friend, and now there was no one on earth Regulus wanted dead more.

“Do you really think the Dark Lord would hide a piece of his soul in a Muggle home?” Regulus asked Dumbledore, searching for any train of thought that would not lead back to Barty Crouch, Jr. “It seems beneath him.”

“It does,” Dumbledore agreed. “But it is a place of importance that we know about, and it is worth a look.”

That Regulus could agree with. Except they’d gotten across the threshold without any snares or tricks. He didn’t think it was likely the Dark Lord would leave a horcrux so vulnerable, especially after the horrors Regulus had had to go through for the one he’d found all those years ago.

But that terrible locket was in Dumbledore’s hands now, and Regulus wanted nothing more to do with it. It had caused him enough trouble in his life.

“And,” Regulus began slowly, “you haven’t heard any news of the Dark Lord’s return?” He’d been pestering Dumbledore for news of Voldemort’s return almost daily since Barty Crouch, Jr. had escaped.

“Only that which I have already told you,” Dumbledore answered, running his hand along the peeling wallpaper of the dining room.

Regulus made a show of inspecting the chandelier above the dining table, though he wasn’t very hopeful about finding anything.

The only thing they knew was that Bertha Jorkins had disappeared while visiting family in Albania. Regulus had known Bertha Jorkins in school and hadn’t thought much of her then. He didn’t think much of her now, and had no idea what her disappearance could mean, but he did know that the Dark Lord had last been seen in Albania, and he had a feeling that’s where Barty was headed. If Bertha had run afoul of Barty, it was likely she was no longer living.

“Are you and Sirius getting along?” Dumbledore asked, and Regulus was surprised by the normalcy of the question. He and Dumbledore usually only spoke about matters related to Regulus’s imprisonment or his time in service to the Dark Lord.

“Well enough,” Regulus answered. “At least as can be expected. We’re a cat and a dog in too many ways, I suppose.” He looked at Dumbledore and was sure there was a smile on the corner of Dumbledore’s mouth, despite the seriousness of what they were doing. “Lupin makes it easier,” he added. “He’s a good bridge.”

“Remus has always been good at that,” Dumbledore agreed, and gave up on the wallpaper. Instead, he prodded his wand along a few of the floorboards that had discolored from a stain that looked eerily like blood, but Regulus knew it couldn’t be. The Killing Curse didn’t leave blood.

“And you’re adjusting to Remus’s needs, I hope?”

“It certainly makes for some excitement in the house.” 

Remus Lupin, Sirius Black’s best friend, was a werewolf. They’d had one full moon together, where Remus Lupin transformed in their home and, thanks to the Wolfsbane Potion, kept the sanity of his mind. Still, Regulus felt safer being a cat perched on the grandfather clock that night, while Sirius seemed to think the whole thing good fun and spent his time as a dog, bounding up and down the stairs, encouraging Remus to chase him.

They had another appointment with the full moon in a week, and Regulus planned to observe from a safe height. He would not let Sirius drag him into the absurdity of playing with a werewolf, and in their parents’ home no less.

“It’s really no more of an inconvenience than living with Sirius on any other given day,” Regulus added, hoping Dumbledore wouldn’t think poorly of him. He was in the process of unlearning several prejudices he’d grown up with, and getting to know and appreciate Remus was one of them. Remus Lupin was nothing like Fenrir Greyback, Regulus had quickly learned, and if he ever wanted to repair his relationship with Sirius, being friends with Remus was the only place to start.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dumbledore said.

Regulus climbed down from the dining room table. “We could check the bedrooms, but seeing how we haven’t run into a curse yet, I don’t know how lucky we’ll be.”

“It’s worth a look,” Dumbledore said again.

Regulus obliged, if only because being here meant being out of Grimmauld Place longer, which meant a longer break from Sirius.

But he and Dumbledore found nothing in the bedrooms of the house, upstairs in the attic, downstairs in the cellar, or anywhere else on the grounds. The moon was beginning to slip over the horizon when Dumbledore finally agreed that there was no sign of a horcrux in any way at the Riddle House, and he Apparated Regulus back to Grimmauld Place, where they said their goodbyes.

“Do give Sirius my best,” Dumbledore said, and left Regulus on the front steps.

When Regulus went inside, he found Sirius sitting alone at the dining room table, half-finished mug of tea that was not steaming and with no aroma that Regulus could distinguish, so it must’ve gone cold long ago. He had the Daily Prophet out, and he was staring at the crossword, but the quill was abandoned beside the paper, ink very dry, and Sirius seemed to be staring at the paper without seeing it at all. Or perhaps he was just concentrating very hard on “Five down: yellow loners; six letters, fourth letter c.”

Regulus cleared his throat, and Sirius looked up, startled.

“You’re back,” he said, clearly surprised.

Regulus made a show of looking around the dining room. “Yes, I suppose I am. Pity.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and folded up the crossword. “I waited up for you.”

“Oh, I assumed you’d only just now gotten up for the day, instead of your usual lie-in until noon.”

Sirius tossed the newspaper at Regulus, who caught it neatly. “You know I’m leaving tomorrow, right? Wanted to make sure you were back safely, had everything you needed, since I don’t know how long it will be.”

Regulus didn’t need the front page of the newspaper to remind him why, as he set it back down on the table. “The Quidditch Cup, I know. I think I’ll manage on my own for a week, if it takes that long.”

“You know I’d take you if I could--”

“It’s fine, Sirius. Go, have a good time.”

But Sirius looked guilty and pained, and Regulus didn’t feel a thing about it. Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

Regulus was of course disappointed that he couldn’t attend the Quidditch World Cup. Quidditch was the one thing he and Sirius had in common. But as thrilling as the Cup was, he had no desire to end up back in Azkaban over something as trivial as a Quidditch match. Despite that, Sirius had spent all week dreaming up hairbrained scheme after hairbrained scheme that would allow Regulus to attend.

The most viable one would have been Regulus traveling with them as Harry’s cat, but Regulus was sure one of the Weasleys would recognize him, and not all of them could be trusted to be as discreet with his secret as Hermione and Ron had been.

The least viable would have been brewing a Polyjuice potion, disguising Regulus as Dumbledore. Regulus was certain he never would have been able to pull that off.

Regulus didn’t think not going to a Quidditch game could turn into a fight between him and Sirius, but, like everything else, it had. Sirius seemed to have the idea that he ought to make up with Regulus by giving him the Quidditch Cup itself. Regulus would’ve liked to make up with Sirius by coexisting quietly together, and largely staying out of each other’s way. They were, like he’d said to Dumbledore, too much like their Animagi counterparts.

When Sirius continued to stand in the dining room, looking like he had his tail tucked between his legs and was about to be scolded for breaking a vase, Regulus stretched his arms over his head.

“Well, I for one am going to sleep.”

“What were you and Dumbledore doing, anyway?”

“Just talking.”

“For six hours?”

“I have a lot of complaining to do about you,” Regulus said, and headed up the stairs. “And I can’t very well vent about it to Remus, can I?”

He knew Sirius didn’t buy that lie for a minute, and there was a pause where they both waited to see if Sirius would turn it into another fight or if he would let it slide. It seemed he was tired enough to let it go, because a crooked grin replaced the guilty look on his face.

“Oh, I don’t know. Remus seems to have a bit to complain about when it comes to me. I think he and Lily make a regular show of it. You could join them. Make jackets and everything.”

“Hm, not a bad idea,” Regulus called back down over the edge of the balcony before closing the door to his room.

It was the same room he’d had as a boy, the same room he’d lived in while he spent those two years recovering from the Dark Lord’s curse. He was lucky his parents had taken to their country home while the war was going on, or he would’ve had a hard time hiding the fact that he was alive from his mother.

The walls were green and silver, in honor of his sorting into Slytherin. He had a few newspaper clippings about the Dark Lord stuck to the walls. They’d grown yellow over time, and most of them had been swept to the floor on that first night Regulus had returned. He’d slowly been tearing away pieces of his old self and trying to figure out what pieces he wanted to keep. The part of him that had idolized Voldemort because his parents had said to was a part he didn’t want.

Tonight, Regulus sat on his bed and studied the family crest that had been painted over the headboard. He didn’t have the same hatred of his family history that his brother had. He was still a Black, and knew he always would be. He had no desire to get rid of the design. But his eyes lingered on the family crest and the family motto beneath it: _Toujours pur._ Always pure.

He thought of the Riddle family, Muggles, murdered for what they were. He thought of Remus Lupin, who was probably the kindest, most selfless person Regulus had ever met, and he’d been friends with house-elves as a child. He thought of Lily Evans, who he’d met just a few weeks ago, and how different she was from what he remembered at school. He’d thought she was a rude, common girl, with no proper upbringing. But when he’d met her, he’d been nothing but charmed by her manners and her sincerity.

Regulus eyed the family crest, wondering what his family legacy really meant to him in the wake of everything he and his parents had done.

In the end, he did not damage the family crest at all, but he did take an inkwell and black out his family’s motto.


	2. The Scar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes from a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for so many wonderful encouraging comments. I really hope this book will live up to the standard I've set as well as your expectations. Many thanks to you and to my beta, ageofzero, who is quite possibly the most helpful person on the planet.

Harry had never actually seen Lord Voldemort before. He’d seen a piece of him, attached to the back of Quirinus Quirrell’s head, and he’d seen Tom Riddle at the age of sixteen, a projection from Voldemort’s diary. He didn’t know what Voldemort really looked like.

But he knew Voldemort’s voice.

“Yes, it would be foolish to act before the end of the Quidditch World Cup.” Even as raspy and weak as it was, even though Harry couldn’t see the speaker, sitting in an arm chair before a fire, he knew to be terrified. “Are you disappointed you cannot attend?” the horrifying voice continued. “I recall as a boy you were quite enamored with the sport.”

Harry’s stomach turned. Even though he knew this was a dream, that Voldemort couldn’t really know him, he felt like Voldemort was talking to him. But then Barty Crouch, Jr. stepped around the chair and knelt before it.

“My Lord, it was not the sport I loved but--but now I’m loyal only to you. I have always been loyal to you.”

“You are my most faithful servant, though you’ve spent these last thirteen years in hiding. You did not search for me--”

“I did, my Lord! I was. I was watching the boy, waiting for the moment of your return.” Barty Crouch’s face flickered in the firelight, and Harry could see the excitement in his eyes. “Must we really wait months? Any wizard will do.”

“Patience,” Voldemort hissed. “I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. I have explained to you the reason I must use the Potters.”

“But if we took his mother--”

“The boy will be easier. There are many protections around that house, old charms. And the Ministry is watching them closely. No, it must be the boy, and it must be as we have planned, since it will take place at Hogwarts, and when we are finished, he will die. We have everything we need. All that is left is to dispose of our helper.”

“It would be my pleasure, my Lord.”

Barty Crouch stood and walked away from the fire. Harry saw in the dim light a woman, crumpled on the floor. She was a bit plump in figure, but her face was sunken in, like she hadn’t eaten in days. A large snake slithered across her feet, and she stirred as Barty Crouch approached her. Harry saw panic in her face.

Pain shot through his scar as Barty raised his wand. Harry tried desperately to hang onto to the dream--where was this dream? Could they find Voldemort and stop him? Could he save this woman? 

But there was a flash of green light and Harry woke with a start.

It took Harry a moment to readjust to the setting of his room. He felt cold, but he was sweating. A breeze drifted in from his open window, and he got out of bed to close it.

His scar burned like someone had spilled a half-brewed potion onto his forehead. Harry touched it tentatively, but it felt normal under his fingers. It wasn’t swollen or bursting its way out of his head, even though it certainly felt like it might.

Just to be sure, Harry tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom. The large empty house had a habit of echoing late at night. His parents slept downstairs, so usually they wouldn’t hear him at night, but Uncle Remus was staying with them, and Harry didn’t want to wake him.

Harry still felt like it was his fault Remus had quit his job at Hogwarts. Harry had promised Remus he would stay inside where it was safe, and Harry had broken his promise, which led to a lengthy turn of events that ended in Remus transforming into a werewolf without his potion and losing his wand.

Remus had been very clear with Harry that he wasn’t leaving because of what Harry had done, nor did he blame Harry for everything that had gone wrong, but it was only that transforming without his potion had made him more aware of the real risk of being so close to students.

The night Harry came home, he’d heard Uncle Remus say to his mother, “It’s too easy for me to hurt a student by being careless. I never should’ve accepted the job in the first place.”

Lily had snorted and said, “Well, I for one am glad you were there, and I know Harry is too.”

Harry did wish Uncle Remus would stay another year, but they’d never had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for any longer than one year.

Harry examined his scar in the mirror, wondering if he should talk to a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher about it. It didn’t look any different--it was the same shiny, zig-zag-shaped, white line in his skin that it always was--but the pain that still burned in his forehead was unusual.

His scar had hurt most memorably in his first year at Hogwarts, when he was eleven. He’d felt pain when Lord Voldemort was attached to the soul of his first Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The closer Lord Voldemort had gotten to the Philosopher’s Stone, the more Harry’s scar had started to hurt. Did the pain now mean that Lord Voldemort was growing closer to resurrecting himself, as he had been then?

Then, Harry had only told Sirius about his scar hurting, and he hadn’t spoken to anyone about it since. He thought about waking his parents now, to tell them about the nightmare that was quickly fading--he could remember a woman, and Barty Crouch, and--Harry’s stomach twisted with revulsion as he thought of Voldemort. He hadn’t seen Voldemort, but his instincts told him he didn’t want to, that looking at the horror that had been sitting in that chair just might drive him insane.

Despite the terror in his gut, Harry hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. It seemed silly to shake his mother awake and say, “Mum, my scar hurts.” He imagined she’d get up and brew him a potion for headaches, as Sirius had recommended a couple years ago. Or, worse, Lily would go into a full panic and wake his father, who would insist on writing to Dumbledore immediately. Then everyone would be worried and fussing because he’d woken up with a slight headache.

Harry settled on getting a drink of water and started towards the kitchen. But down the hall, he noticed the dining room was lit.

He thought it must be Sirius. It wasn’t unusual for Sirius to suddenly show up after a fight with Regulus, which Harry didn’t really understand. He’d always wanted a brother or sister, someone who could be his friend. He imagined it would be like he was with Ron and Hermione, and he never fought with them. Maybe Hermione and Ron fought, and Ron fought with his brothers and sister, but Harry didn’t think he’d fight with a brother or sister. Certainly not like Regulus and Sirius must fight, if it got so awful they couldn’t be in the same house with each other.

Though James seemed to think the house itself was the problem. He’d offered to buy Regulus a place of his own, but Regulus had turned him down. He’d offered Sirius the same thing, and Sirius had also said no. Harry didn’t understand why, if Sirius hated his parents’ home so much, he wouldn’t just live somewhere else.

But it wasn’t Sirius at the Potter’s dining room table--it was Lily.

She was staring at some paper--regular Muggle paper, not parchment--and chewing on the end of her quill.

“Why’re you up, Mum?” he asked.

She looked startled to see him, then quickly gathered the papers together. “Just writing a letter. What’re you doing out of bed?”

Harry ignored her question, not quite sure he wanted to tell her he was having nightmares again. She’d started crying when he told her about the dream he’d had after seeing the unicorn. He didn’t know what she’d do if he tried to tell her his scar was hurting.

“To who?” he asked.

“To whom,” she corrected, and got up to put the paper in a drawer under the china cabinet. “My sister,” she answered. “She doesn’t like receiving parchment envelopes.”

“Do we get Muggle post from her then?” Harry thought he would have heard a Muggle postman come by at some point. He wasn’t sure the Muggles even knew how to find this house, out in the country.

“I have a post office box in town she writes to,” Lily said. “Now, what are you doing out of bed? Is everything alright?” She reached her hand out to check his temperature and he flinched when she touched his scar. “Harry,” her voice was a warning.

“I had a nightmare,” he finally admitted.

“About that night?”

Harry shook his head.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He did, but he was suddenly worried she would start crying again, like she had the last time he’d told her he had nightmares.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” she said. “I don’t want you to feel scared. There’s nothing you could say to make me stop loving you.”

“I know,” he said, and he did know, but it didn’t make him more inclined to share with her. It almost made it harder, because it was exactly how much she loved him that made him afraid to tell her when he was hurting. “I dreamed about Voldemort and Barty Crouch.”

“Together?” Lily sounded like she was asking an innocent question, but Harry recognized the fear in her eyes. They had the same eyes, which made it very hard for the two of them to keep secrets from each other.

“They were talking about how they needed a wizard for something. Voldemort said it had to be one of us. You, me, or Dad. He wanted it to be me.”

“You’re safe with us,” Lily said.

“But at Hogwarts--”

“Dumbledore’s at Hogwarts. And Professor McGonagall. They’d never let anything happen to you.”

Harry knew that was true, but, “Voldemort said they had to wait a few months. Maybe he’s waiting for Christmas, when I’m home for the holidays. He said it would be after the Quidditch Cup.”

Harry expected his mother to be worried by these details, but instead she had a secretive smile on her face. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I have a feeling you won’t want to come home for Christmas.”

“Why? Are you going to be at Hogwarts?”

Lily kissed his forehead, just to the left of his scar. “I can’t tell you just yet. Go on back to bed. Try to get some sleep. You won’t be getting much the next few days.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. In just two days, he’d be going to see his friend Ron Weasley. Ron’s father had managed to get tickets for the whole family, so instead of just Harry and his dad and Sirius going with Ron and Hermione, it was going to be a big event. All of Ron’s brothers would be coming, even Bill and Charlie who worked abroad, and Harry hadn’t seen since he was ten.

“Mum, did you and Dad never want to have more kids like Mrs. Weasley?”

Lily laughed. “Goodness, I don’t know what I would do with seven of you and your father running around. I can barely manage the two of you.”

“What about a sister? Like you have? Then it’d be a girl just like you for Dad to take care of.”

Lily laughed again and pushed Harry towards the door. “Go back to bed before we wake your father.”

Harry climbed the stairs, careful to avoid the dead center of the fourth step, with a smile on his face. He felt worlds better after talking with his mother. His nightmare felt as distant as Hogwarts.

When he got to his room, he found Hedwig perched on his windowsill, tapping her beak against the glass irritably. Harry opened the window for her and crawled into bed, with no idea that downstairs, his mother was still sitting at the dining room table, crying silently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated. <3


	3. The Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily receives an invitation; James gets snoopy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta, ageofzero, who knows how to turn an awful day into an amazing day.

Saturday morning, Harry went downstairs for breakfast feeling much better than he’d expected. The nightmare hadn’t come back, not even a little, and the pain in his scar was a dull ache, a very faint reminder of his terrifying vision.

His mother was seated at the dining room table, just like last night, but now she was joined by James and Uncle Remus.

“Morning, Snitch,” James grinned.

“Morning,” Harry said, and smiled back.

Lily picked her wand up off the table and a plate topped with eggs, potatoes, sausage, and toast floated its way from the kitchen to an empty seat at the table. Harry sat down and started eating.

“Did you sleep all right last night, Harry?” Uncle Remus asked, and set down the newspaper crossword puzzle. “I thought I heard you get up.”

Harry cast a quick glance at his mother as he stuffed a bite of eggs into his mouth to stall, but she was staring steadily out the window and didn’t look over at him. “Fine,” Harry said after swallowing his eggs. “Just got up for water.”

Remus seemed to know that Harry was lying, but he didn’t press the issue. If anyone understood Harry’s desire to keep hurts secret, it was Uncle Remus.

His father, however, did not have that understanding, and looked at Harry curiously, clearly debating on whether or not he should say something. James was distracted by Lily clearing her throat, and they seemed to have a silent argument with only their eyes.

Harry hated when adults did that, and he wished he knew how they did that. In an effort to distract his father, and keep him from asking about how he slept, or his mother from telepathically communicating his nightmare, he asked, “Is Sirius still coming today?”

This distracted James as easily as Quidditch distracted Harry. “Yes,” he answered. “And we’ll all go to the Weasley’s tomorrow, so we can leave together in the morning. Which reminds me, I need to dig through the attic for the tent. I don’t think I’ve seen it since graduation.”

Remus finished off his tea and said, “I believe Sirius and I left it next to some old chairs.”

“That shouldn’t be hard to find--except I think the house-elves rearranged things when Lily and I left. I haven’t been up there since.” James ran his fingers through his hair and pushed his bangs back. He looked lost for a minute. Harry wondered if he was thinking about the attic or the war.

Lily got up to take the breakfast plates, but James stood suddenly. “No, I got it. You cooked. I’ll clean.”

She smiled as he picked up the plates. “Without magic?” and she raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Oh, I think I left my wand in the kitchen. I’ll find it in a minute.”

She sighed and shook her head.

“Did you finish your homework, Harry?” Uncle Remus asked.

“Yeah, even Potions.” Harry had worked very hard on his homework. He didn’t know how much time would be left after the Quidditch World Cup. Big games like that could last for days before one of the Seekers caught the Snitch. 

“Should I look over your Potions essay?” Lily asked.

“No. Well, probably,” Harry said, though he really didn’t want to rewrite any of it.

“Go and get it before you get distracted by Sirius.”

Harry finished the last of his toast, left the plate in the sink, and ran upstairs. He came back with his Potions essay, his History of Magic essay, his Charms essay, and his Transfiguration essay.

Lily took Potions and Remus took History of Magic. There was silence while they checked over Harry’s work, and Harry went to help his dad put away the dishes.

“Will you look over my Transfiguration essay?” Harry asked as he opened a cupboard for mugs.

“Of course. Let me just put these plates in the china cabinet.” James, wand now in hand, levitated the plates into the dining room. He opened the cupboard with his hand and gently set the plates on the shelf inside. He noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the drawer beneath the cabinet and opened it curiously.

“Lils,” James started in a slow voice, like he couldn’t quite process what he was reading.

Lily looked up from Harry’s essay, then quickly snatched the paper from James. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Remus still had his eyes on Harry’s History of Magic essay, but his attention was now too focused. He was clearly pretending not to be listening. Harry awkwardly did the same, taking a sudden interest in the crossword puzzle Remus had abandoned.

“I didn’t tell you because I’m not going,” Lily said. She folded the paper neatly along older crease lines. “Someone has to stay here and get Harry’s school supplies and brew Remus’s potions this week.”

“But you want to go,” James said. He wasn’t asking, he was telling, and Lily didn’t disagree.

Harry couldn’t stand it any longer. “Go where?” he asked.

Lily didn’t answer, so James said with a sigh, “Your Aunt Petunia invited your Mum to stay with them for a few days, since Lily mentioned I’d be out of town with you. Instead of telling me, and figuring something out together, she just said no.”

“It won’t work out, James. This is why I didn’t tell you, because you’d throw a fit and make a big deal about how important it is--”

“It is important. You want to see your sister. You should go.”

“And you want to go to the Quidditch World Cup. We can’t have both and brew Remus’s potion.”

“I think I could manage, if you want to do both,” Remus said quietly. He clearly looked uncomfortable being at the center of their argument.

“You’re not going to just ‘manage,’” Lily said. “I’ve promised you that I’ll brew your potion for you, or James will, and James is going to the Quidditch match, so I’ll be here with you.”

But James’s face was already alight with inspiration. Harry recognized it immediately. 

“But, it wouldn’t be too hard,” James said. “We originally said Remus didn’t have to go, but we’ll just bring him along and take the stuff to make the potion there.”

“You can’t make a Wolfsbane Potion in a tent! And you can’t do it outside--there will be Muggles who could see you, and even wizards who will want to know what you’re doing.”

James waved his hand. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t have a ticket for Remus, either.”

“Sirius will go as Padfoot. Remus will take Sirius’s ticket. It won’t be a problem.”

“James, that is so many problems! I don’t understand why you’re making a big deal out of it. I’ve already finished writing a polite refusal, I just need to post it today.”

“Tell her you’ll see her Sunday night. You should go. Even better--go into town and make one of those telly calls.”

Remus laughed at James’s small pureblood blunder, and Lily looked like she was trying very hard to stay mad at him, but it wasn’t easy. Harry had heard his dad talk about a telephone properly before, so he wondered if James had done it on purpose.

“James,” Lily tried again, “you want to take Remus to the Quidditch Cup, when Merlin knows how many Hogwarts students and parents will be there?”

“Well, I’m not going to leave Remus to wander the Cup on his own.”

“I don’t need to be babysat,” Remus said quietly. “I’ll stay here by myself.”

“You will not,” Lily and James said at the same time.

Harry thought Remus looked a bit like a scolded child, and he and Harry exchanged sympathetic glances. 

“If I go,” Lily said, clearly hesitant to entertain the idea, “who will get Harry’s school things?”

“Remus can take him today while Sirius and I pack for the match. He’s finished his homework, and Remus needs to get a wand.”

“I’ll take Harry to Diagon Alley, but I’m not letting you buy me a wand,” Remus said quietly.

This was another fight Harry had watched repeatedly over this summer. Both James and Lily had tried to convince Remus to let them buy him a wand, to replace the one that Barty Crouch had stolen, but Remus had stubbornly refused. Harry honestly didn’t understand it. He was used to Remus refusing money from his parents, but he knew that Remus had some money saved up from his time at Hogwarts. He’d even bought Harry a very nice set of books on Defense Against the Dark Arts for his birthday. Sirius and Remus had gifted it together, and Sirius had inscribed on the cover of the first one, “This is far better than anything you could have learned from my family.” But as Harry knew Sirius had very little money left, Remus had probably paid for the books himself.

What Harry didn’t understand is why Remus didn’t buy himself a new wand if he had the means. A wizard without a wand wasn’t much of a wizard, Harry thought. He’d spent all summer watching Remus perform everyday tasks without the use of magic and it was odd, even for Harry, who had a Muggleborn mother and a father who often misplaced his wand around the house and couldn’t be bothered to go looking for it quite as often as he lost it.

James and Lily had another silent conversation, one Harry couldn’t begin to interpret, but finally, Lily let out a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” she said. “Harry, let me get your dress robes.”

“My what?” Harry said. “I don’t want my dress robes tailored.”

“You need them this year,” she said as she headed upstairs.

Harry didn’t remember seeing dress robes on his school supply list, but he hadn’t looked at it very closely. He hated dress robes. He hadn’t had to wear them since his eleventh birthday. What on earth would he need them at school for?

He looked at his dad for help. “Why do I need dress robes?”

His father had a secretive smile, like Lily had had last night, when Harry asked her about Christmas holiday. “Just do as your mother says.”

\--- --- ---

Harry was careful to brush his bangs over his scar as he and Uncle Remus walked around Diagon Alley together. Uncle Remus didn’t attract nearly as much attention as Harry’s parents might, even with the scars across his nose. It was nice to feel like they could walk from shop to shop without people whispering as he passed, or people coming up to shake his hand.

They started in Madam Malkin’s first, since Remus also needed robes tailored. Harry figured it was probably for the best to get it over with.

He tugged the dress robes on and was surprised to find the hem came to his knees and the sleeve was a good four inches above his wrist. Madam Malkin took one look at Harry, clicked her tongue, and said, “Goodness, dear, you’re going to need new robes. There’s not enough hem left in these to make you look like anything less than a house elf in a tea cloth!”

Getting fitted was a bit more of a nightmare than Harry had bargained for, but his parents had given him plenty of money for new robes. And without his mother there to decide what they looked like, Harry managed to find nice, mature-looking robes in a strong, dark red. Madam Malkin tried to convince him to add a pine-green sash that she claimed would bring out his eyes, but Harry felt like it made him look like a Muggle Saint Nick, so he opted for a silk black sash with a golden buckle instead. 

“Quite dashing,” Remus said with approval. “I think your mother might cry to see how grown up you look.”

Harry redressed in his day-robes quickly. It was a nice compliment, but he didn’t want to think about his mother crying. Last night had been too close a call.

As Harry and Remus walked to Flourish and Blotts, Harry wondered if he should talk to Remus about his dream last night. Remus had been a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, like Lily, and Remus was also the most pleasantly honest adult Harry had ever known. Remus knew how to keep secrets and how to be honest with Harry. He never tried to couch the truth in platitudes, and Harry had always appreciated the way Remus treated him more like an adult than anyone else Harry had ever met.

So after Harry had paid for his books and they stopped at Florean Fortescue’s for ice cream sundaes to ward off the worst of the day’s heat, Harry told Uncle Remus all about his nightmare.

And Harry thought of something he wished he’d remembered at breakfast: “Voldemort said that he didn’t want Mum because she’d be hard to get to at the house, but if she goes to visit Aunt Petunia--”

“I wouldn’t worry about your mother,” Remus said. “She and your father fought Voldemort and survived more than once. She’ll be able to handle herself, even if she is with Muggles.”

“But against Barty Crouch? When he dueled Regulus--”

Remus shook his head. “Regulus and Barty are skilled in Dark Arts, true, but your mother is talented in Defense. I promise you she can handle herself. You’ve watched her duel Sirius before. She’s even beaten me more often than I’ve beaten her.”

Harry knew what Remus said was true, but he still worried about his mother.

“Is your scar still hurting?” Remus asked.

“Not really.” Harry rubbed at it, but it was only a dull ache. Nothing like the intense pain it had been last night. 

“I wouldn’t dwell on it,” Remus said. “If it was just a nightmare, then there’s no sense in holding onto it. If it was more, well, there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s passed.”

“What if it’s something that’s going to happen?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Remus’s lips. “Tell me, what did you get on your Divination final exam?”

Harry couldn’t help but grin. “Well, considering my prediction came true….”

“If you had the gift of foresight, I think it would have presented itself differently than the occasional nightmare. Come on,” Remus said, scraping the last of the fudge drizzle from his glass bowl, “you need to restock your Potions supplies.”

Harry ate the cherry from the top of his sundae, feeling marginally better. Uncle Remus was always so practical. And it felt easier to let go of his dream now that he’d really talked it over with someone.

“Do you need anything else?” Uncle Remus asked, once they’d gotten Harry his things for Potions class, and picked up a few things for the Wolfsbane Potion Lily had said they were running low on.

Harry had gotten a new set of quills and parchment from Regulus Black for his birthday, which had been an unexpected gift, but welcome, so he was all set for school supplies, but there were seven extra galleons weighing his purse down that his parents had given him before he left. He just wasn’t quite sure how angry it would make Uncle Remus.

“Well,” he said slowly, “Mum and Dad gave me money to get you a new wand.”

He watched Remus’s face closely, but the only sign of frustration was a slight flare of his nostrils. “Then I suppose we are done,” he smiled. “Shall we?”

“Why won’t you get a new wand for yourself?”

Remus seemed to consider his answer carefully, eyes focused on something internally, as a cart bearing singing watches rolled past them. He finally said, “A wand is a very precious thing. You remember how many wands you tried before you found the one that suited you. The feeling when you finally find the wand that’s for you is such a wonderful experience. I grew up expecting to never hold a wand of my own. So on the day my father finally took me to Diagon Alley, on a quiet Tuesday morning, as if he was afraid someone might know my secret just by looking at me, on the day I finally held my wand, it felt like the world had opened up to me. I’d been given a privilege I wasn’t sure I deserved and losing that wand, well, I don’t think I can just replace it.”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that. He knew what his parents would say. James would say that Remus was being absurd, that a wand was a necessary tool. Lily would say that Remus didn’t need to punish himself for something he couldn’t control.

“I think I get it,” Harry said. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have one at all. What if Voldemort comes while I’m at Hogwarts? You can’t protect Mum and Dad for me if you don’t have a wand.”

This, of all things, made Uncle Remus laugh, as Harry had hoped it would. “Alright. That’s the most sensible argument I’ve heard all summer. Let’s go to Ollivander’s.”

Harry didn’t think his argument had really won Remus over, even if it had been funny. He thought maybe Uncle Remus just needed to talk about it with someone who wouldn’t dismiss his feelings, as Uncle Remus had just done for Harry.

When they stepped inside Ollivander’s, the wand-maker looked just as Harry remembered him--thin, elderly, and a little distant, but when his eyes lighted on Harry, a sort of madness and excitement seemed to seep into them.

“Ah, Mr. Harry Potter. Eleven inches, phoenix feather, and holly. Very nice wand. Is it working well for you? In need of any repairs?”

“Er, no,” Harry said. “We’re here for Remus today, actually.”

Ollivander seemed to notice Remus for the first time, and he squinted. “Hm, little Remus Lupin, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t the first time Harry had heard someone call Uncle Remus “little” before, and Harry really didn’t understand. Uncle Remus was not someone Harry had ever considered short.

“Ten and a quarter?” Ollivander continued. “Cypress, I believe,” and there was a touch of sadness in his voice as he said it.

Remus nodded. “I’m afraid, Sir, that I’ve lost it, and need a replacement.”

Harry was used to Remus being polite, but Remus seemed strangely shy before Ollivander, and Harry suddenly imagined an eleven-year-old Remus in this shop, a young werewolf, terrified and excited to be given a wand. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what the rules had been in those days about “part-humans” but he wondered if it had even been legal for Remus to have a wand. Harry felt strangely glad that his parents weren’t here to see Remus like this. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t sure they’d be able to stand it.

“Terrible thing to happen to a wizard,” Ollivander said, as he began browsing the boxes of wands scattered across the shop. “In a duel?”

“Actually, I just sort of… dropped it, and someone else picked it up.”

There was a strange gleam in Ollivander’s eyes as browsed a stack of boxes, then abandoned it with a sharp frown. “Unicorn hair, wasn’t it? Incredibly loyal. I wouldn’t be surprised if it doesn’t work very well for the wizard who stole it.”

Harry wished that were true, but Barty Crouch had managed to out duel Regulus Black and escape. If the wand had truly been loyal to Remus alone, maybe Barty wouldn’t be out there helping Voldemort return.

“That’s a comforting thought,” Remus said.

“Did you have any special requests for a new wand?” Ollivander asked. “I find adults tend to know what they want, regardless of how a wand feels.”

Remus shook his head. “No, thank you. What I had before worked just fine.”

“It won’t feel quite the same,” Ollivander warned. He climbed a ladder that reached all the way to the ceiling, and stretched his arm out for a dusty box. “Unicorn hair will take time to adjust to you. Like a new hat that needs a bit of stretching.” He finally managed to catch the edge of the box he was reaching for and climbed down the ladder. He opened the box and presented it to Remus.

“Ten and a quarter, cypress and unicorn hair, and reasonably pliant. All the specifications of your old wand, I believe.”

Remus took the wand and waved it. He silently summoned the box Ollivander still held to his hand. Harry thought Remus looked displeased, but Remus said, “Yes, it will do.”

“Give it time to stretch,” Ollivander said, taking the wand and box back from Remus. “You were eleven and new to magic, so you likely didn’t notice your wand growing into you, but it will. Practice!” He tied a ribbon around the box, just as he had for Harry three years ago, and presented it to Remus. “And break bad habits and shortcuts you’ve gotten into. A fresh wand hasn’t learned your tricks yet.”

Remus fished seven galleons out of his pocket and turned them over to Ollivander in exchange for his new wand.

When they left the shop, Harry asked, “What do we do with the seven galleons my parents gave me for your wand?”

“I think the responsible thing would be to return it, don’t you?”

Harry shrugged. “I could, but Mum and Dad will scold you for spending your own money on something so expensive. And it is a little bit my fault you lost your wand, so--”

“I’ve told you, Harry, it isn’t--”

“I know what you’ve told me,” Harry said, “but if I hadn’t left the castle that night, you wouldn’t have forgotten to take your potion, and Barty would’ve never gotten your wand.”

Remus sighed. “You could never have known--”

“But I did. Professor Trelawney said what would happen and I left the castle anyway.”

“Prophecies are fickle things, Harry. She only said that the Dark Lord’s servant would rejoin his master, and he would rise again. How that would happen is entirely changable. You chose to help a friend in need. I don’t think you made the wrong choice.”

“That’s not what Dad chose. When you told him, he stayed at home instead of being with you on the full moon.”

“You and your father made different choices for the same reasons--because you care about others.”

Harry still wasn’t convinced. He knew that he and Hermione had managed to lessen some of the worst things that could have happened their last night at school. They saved Buckbeak, kept Regulus Black from being returned to Azkaban, and even saved Harry’s life from being sucked out by dementors. Still, Harry couldn’t help but think that if he had acted differently, Remus would still be a teacher, and he would still have his wand.

“Shall we Floo home?” Remus suggested. “I imagine Sirius will be there by now, and your Mum should be back from the Muggle village soon. We should get dinner ready so she doesn’t have to.”

“What if we use the seven galleons to pick up food for dinner?”

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.” Remus said.

Harry and Uncle Remus made one last stop to get dinner for the family, and they didn’t spend nearly all the money, but Harry felt a little better about going home with a lighter pocket, since the money was spent on someone else, and he thought that Remus probably felt the same.

It hadn’t been the most pleasant day--conversations about nightmares and Voldemort, loss and regrets--but Harry felt happy as they went home, and an evening with his father and Sirius digging through the attic, and his mother coming home pleasantly surprised to find dinner ready was a more than perfect way to end the day.

As Harry laid down to sleep, properly worn out, Voldemort was the furthest thing from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated.


	4. Back to the Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Potters prepare for an exciting vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wonderful thanks to my beta, ageofzero, who has to endure all of my silly headcanons.
> 
> And if you're feeling like you need some pain-filled Wolfstar, I posted a [sneak preview of Half-Blood Prince](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6104434), for anyone who's interested. No plot spoilers, just relationship things.

It didn’t matter that Harry fell asleep thinking about a busy Saturday in Diagon Alley, or digging through the attic with his father, Sirius, and Uncle Remus. It didn’t matter that he went to bed with a stomach full of warm food, or that his mother tucked him into bed even though he was fourteen and he didn’t need it, but she still did it because she loved him and he loved her.

None of that mattered; the nightmares still came.

He dreamed about Lord Voldemort again, but he still didn’t see him. He knew Voldemort was seated in the chair, and Barty Crouch was kneeling at Voldemort’s feet, writhing in pain. Red light crackled at the tip of Voldemort’s wand.

“Please, my Lord,” Barty Crouch begged between cries of pain. “I would never; my loyalty is only to you. I had no idea--”

“We will need another to do your duties so you can repair your mistakes, Barty,” Voldemort hissed in his weak and raspy voice.

“Please--”

But the wand shot red sparks again and as Barty Crouch screamed, Harry woke, scar throbbing with pain.

He sat up in bed and pressed his hands to his forehead, trying to will away the awful image and with it, the pain in his scar.

He wondered if he should wake Remus or his parents, or even Sirius. But his mother and Remus had told him not to worry about it, that it was probably nothing but a nightmare--they had said that, hadn’t they?

Harry was fourteen, and didn’t feel like he needed to go downstairs and crawl into bed with his parents because he’d had a bad dream. But at the same time, he desperately wanted to.

He got out of bed, thinking maybe if Sirius was awake, they could go out on a midnight broomstick ride. Harry knew better than to go alone--it wasn’t safe if there was any sort of fall or accident. Anything could happen in the air. He’d had his fair share of accidents while flying. But right now, riding a broom sounded like the perfect distraction.

Harry tiptoed down the hall, not wanting to disturb Remus like he had the night before, but when he passed Remus’s room he saw the light was still on, seeping out from the crack between the door and the hardwood floor.

He paused, wondering if he should talk to Remus, since Remus was already awake, but then he heard Sirius’s voice, in a low whisper.

“I don’t know what it was about. He wouldn’t tell me.”

And Remus, just as soft, “You were so trusting of him three months ago.”

“I trust that he intended to leave You-Know-Who all those years ago, and he had good intentions breaking out of Azkaban. I don’t know that I trust him to continue making the right decisions. He’s always swayed to pressures easily.”

“Your parents are dead. They can’t influence him anymore.”

“Tell that to my mother’s portrait.”

“You trust Dumbledore, don’t you?”

Harry heard shuffling. He wasn’t sure if Sirius was getting up to leave, or if he was just pacing, but Harry quickly went downstairs. He didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping. Not that Sirius or Remus would scold him--Sirius often encouraged him to eavesdrop--but he felt like they were having a private conversation. Remus kept Harry’s secrets well enough that Harry felt a bit guilty intruding on his.

He decided on getting a drink of water. Maybe by the time he finished, Remus and Sirius would be finished talking. 

As Harry walked through the dining room, he saw the kitchen light was on. He found his father digging through the cupboards.

“Dad? Is everything alright?”

James turned, surprised to see Harry, and took a jar of what looked to Harry like purple flower petals out of the cupboards. Probably aconite, though they looked surprisingly fresh for being a few weeks old. At least, Harry assumed they had to be, because aconite for a Wolfsbane Potion had to be picked on the night of a new moon, which was why, instead of buying it from an herbalist, his parents grew it themselves in a very hidden grove to prevent anyone from being poisoned by accidentally brushing against it.

“What’re you doing up? It’s late.”

“Thirsty,” Harry said, and went to get a glass of water. “What’re you doing up?”

“Making sure everything’s ready for our trip to the Weasley’s tomorrow.”

“Could it wait until the morning? We’re leaving late, aren’t we?”

James sighed, and ran his hand through his hair. “It could. To be honest, brewing the potion at the Cup is going to be more difficult than I want to admit to your mother.”

“Can you just brew it here and take it with?”

“Doesn’t work like that, unfortunately. Loses its potency. And I’d like to not kill the only werewolf in the family this week,” he grinned. But then his smile faded as he watched Harry. “Was it a nightmare again?”

Harry’s parents knew him too well, it seemed. He shrugged. “Yeah. But it’s fine. I already talked to Mum about it.”

“And what did she say?”

“Not to worry.”

“Of course she did.” James pulled a napkin out of a drawer and wrapped the jar of aconite carefully. “She doesn’t tell me everything you tell her,” he sighed. “I know you tell me things you don’t want her to know, but I do want you to know you can talk to me about your nightmares too.”

Harry knew he could, but somehow, even though he knew his father might not be brought to tears the way his mother might, he thought that his nightmares might terrify his father more, the way they might terrify Sirius. Remus and Lily could tell him everything would be alright, and they would worry, but they could reassure him. Sirius and James might panic. But there was something else he would rather talk to his father about than his mother.

“When I met the dementors,” Harry said, “I saw the night that Voldemort came to the house, when I was a baby. I heard him attack Mum and--I heard you, too.”

“You were only fifteen months, Harry. You can’t remember--”

“You told Mum to run. You were going to face him and Uncle Remus said you didn’t even have your wand.”

“I never told Remus that.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t I have my wand or why didn’t I tell Remus?”

“Both,” Harry said, not knowing which one he’d really meant.

“I left my wand in the living room. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had it or not,” James said with a sigh. “I guess I knew that, either way, I was only buying your Mum time. She was supposed to Disapparate with you.” James was quiet, turning the well-wrapped jar of aconite over in his hand, like it might have answers about that night he could share with Harry. “You never know what you’re going to do in those moments. Your classes will teach you spells and how to defend yourself, but they don’t tell you what it’s really like.”

“I did fight a basilisk,” Harry said. “I think I get it.”

James laughed. “You’ve had your fair share of duels. You-Know-Who in first year, a basilisk and You-Know-Who in second year, and Barty Crouch, Jr. just a few months ago. Maybe after the Quidditch World Cup, you and I should have a duel, see how far you’ve come.”

“You didn’t answer my question about Remus, though.”

James sighed and put the aconite into a box on the counter. “I told Sirius because Sirius would find it funny. Sirius would laugh and make fun of me for forgetting my wand. If I had told Remus, he would’ve been concerned, probably scolded me like your Mum did. Your Mum looks out for me. I don’t ever want Remus to feel like he has to, too.”

Remus had said, _“Your father seems to think I have enough troubles, and doesn’t like to add his to mine.”_ It wasn’t an entirely inaccurate statement, Harry thought. 

“I bet Sirius worries about you, too,” Harry says.

“I’m sure he does. And he worries about you, you know, even if he tries not to. Sirius thinks worrying is a lot like parenting, and he does his very best not to parent anyone.”

“Is it because his parents were terrible?”

“Probably,” James said, and looked out the window instead of at Harry.

Harry realized that while Sirius deflected questions about his family, James looked incredibly uncomfortable answering questions about Sirius’s family. Harry couldn’t imagine why. He knew that Sirius had lived here with James’s family when he was younger, but he didn’t know that James had known Sirius’s parents at all.

“It’s a clear night,” James said suddenly. “How do you feel about a little midnight Quidditch?”

Harry was so much like his father. He got their brooms while his father enchanted a Quaffle to glow so they’d be able to see it in the dark. 

“Just keep it down so we don’t wake your Mum,” James said as they stepped out onto the porch.

Harry took off on his Firebolt. James threw the Quaffle a good seven meters to his left and Harry zipped after the Quaffle, catching it just before it hit the ground and pulling up in a smooth arc. He threw it back at his father, not quite so far away, because James’s old Comet wasn’t nearly as quick as Harry’s Firebolt.

It must’ve been a good twenty minutes before Sirius came out and joined them, assuring them it wasn’t the noise that had caught his attention, but he’d seen the lighted Quaffle from from Remus’s window.

The horizon was tinted red when they finally touched back down. Harry felt properly exhausted and went up to bed. He fell asleep before he could even worry about having another nightmare and didn’t dream at all.

\--- --- ---

Harry woke up at noon. He might’ve slept longer, but his mother was banging on his door.

“Up, or you’ll never sleep tonight!” she shouted.

“I am up!” he called back and reached for his glasses.

The day was a rush of packing. Lily worked on an Extension Charm for the backpack James would carry. James and Remus pulled out the tent to make sure it was as large as they remembered, enough to fit all of them. Sirius spent the day making sure there was plenty of dog-appropriate food going into the pack.

“Can’t you eat regular food?” Harry asked.

“That would be suspicious,” Sirius said as he froze a piece of raw steak with his wand, then wrapped it in butcher paper. “And, admittedly, if I have to digest while I’m a dog, it gives me a bit of a stomach ache. I don’t mind the food I get to eat when I’m pretending to be a dog. But I also wouldn’t mind if you sneak some of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking under the table when she isn’t looking.”

Harry laughed. “Won’t you be able to be you at the Weasleys’? Ron and Hermione already know about you.”

“None of the others do. And so your father and I don’t get arrested, it’s probably best we keep it that way.” Sirius finished wrapping the last of the meat and went to put it in the backpack Lily had just gotten together.

Remus and James found that the tent was in fact large enough to fit them after all, but getting it put away again was proving more difficult than they’d bargained for.

It didn’t help that Sirius, now that he was done packing for himself, took the opportunity to run across the lawn, turn into a dog halfway, and jump onto the side of the tent, barking loudly the entire time.

A blue light sparked on the end of Remus’s wand, and Sirius was back in his human form, laughing, and he got up to help James pull the tent down.

Harry watched from the porch, knowing he wasn’t allowed to use his wand to help, even if the Trace probably wouldn’t detect his magic usage in this old house.

Lily came up behind him, dressed in Muggle clothes, hair pulled up under a broad-brimmed hat, and a purse in hand. Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her look so much like an ordinary Muggle, even when they’d gone to visit his Muggle Aunt and Uncle on his birthday two years earlier.

“Are you all packed for school?” she asked him. “I don’t know how long you’ll be gone.”

“All packed, except I want to take my broom to Ron’s.” Harry said. “You look… different.”

She laughed and kissed his cheek. “No sense frightening your uncle by showing up in witch’s robes. I’ll probably be back before you and your father get home, if the last World Cup is anything to judge by.” She looked across the yard to where Remus was trying to pull James out of the tent. Somehow, he’d fallen in while it was half-folded up. “Keep an eye on them for me, Harry. Sending your father off on a weekend with his friends sounds like a terrible idea now that it’s about to happen.”

Harry laughed. “I will. They’ll be fine. Mr. Weasley will be with us.”

“He’ll need all his experience from raising seven children to keep those three out of trouble.”

“Uncle Remus is alright.”

“On a camping trip with your father and Sirius? Doubtful.” She shook her head. “I’m sure everything will be fine. I just worry about all of you.” She hugged Harry, then walked out onto the lawn to help Remus and Sirius fish James out of the tent.

With the tent packed away, finally, Lily said her goodbyes to James. She made him promise to be careful, and he made her promise the same. She laughed and said she didn’t know how she could run into any trouble in a quiet little Muggle village.

“You are taking your wand though, right?” Harry asked, still a little unnerved from his nightmares.

“Of course.” She patted the side of her dress. “It’s right here, where I can get to it any time I need to. Don’t worry about me.” She kissed Harry’s forehead, Remus’s cheek, and hugged Sirius goodbye.

Once she was gone, James surveyed the living room, like it might remind him of anything he’d forgotten to pack. “We have everything don’t we?”

“Sirius’s food?” Remus asked.

“Check.”

“Wolfsbane potions things?” Sirius asked.

“Check.”

“Including the cauldron?” Remus asked.

James disappeared into the kitchen, came back with the cauldron, and put it into the backpack. It sounded like it tumbled down a dark hole, but the bag size didn’t change.

“Check,” James said.

“It’s just after five,” Remus said. “We’re already late.”

“Okay, Remus, you first, let the Weasleys know we’re on our way. Harry, you next, take the backpack--it’s not heavy at all; I promise--Sirius, you’ll have to go with me. I don’t think the Floo Network speaks bark.”

Sirius was suddenly a large black dog on the floor of the Potters’ living room, yipping at James. James playfully swatted his nose.

Harry shouldered the backpack while Remus stepped into the fireplace. It really wasn’t heavy. There was no way to know how much they’d packed. His mother really was excellent with her charms. “Dad, you have your wand, right?” Harry asked.

James patted his robes, then ran to the yard. He came back quickly, tucking it into his robes. “Left it on the garden table. Got it now. That’s everything, isn’t it?”

Sirius barked and nudged Harry to the fireplace.

Harry certainly hoped that was everything. He took a pinch of the Floo Powder off the mantle and threw it into the fire. The flames turned green and Harry stepped into it. “The Burrow!” he shouted and his family home disappeared in a rush of bright green fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated <3


	5. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets settled in at the Burrow for a night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta, ageofzero, who is probably far more knowledgeable about the upcoming books than I am and sends me random texts to remind me of plot points I need to be aware of. 
> 
> I had a dream that JKR read this AU, and she loved it so much she wanted to publish it as a real book. I said that was a good idea, and we put all the proceeds to charity. It was an incredible dream, and I'm really sad I woke up.

Harry stumbled into the Weasleys' kitchen, covered in soot and ash. His best friend Ron was waiting for him and helped him off of the hearth. At the kitchen table sat Fred and George, though they didn’t stay seated for long. They ran over to shake his hand and say hello. Harry was very good friends with them, even though they were a couple years older. They were all on the Gryffindor Quidditch team together.

There were two more Weasleys at the table, Weasleys that Harry didn’t know very well. Harry hadn’t seen Bill or Charlie Weasley since before he’d even started at Hogwarts. Both worked internationally, and were rarely in England.

Uncle Remus was standing near the stove, talking to Molly Weasley, who looked quite pleased to see him. 

While Mrs. Weasley was telling Remus she was sorry that Sirius was feeling poorly and wouldn’t be able to attend, Fred leaned closer to Harry and whispered, “That’s a shame. I was hoping we could ask Prongs and Padfoot a few questions.”

“Oh--well,” Harry said, and adjusted his glasses.

Ron and Hermione knew about Sirius and James’s Animagus abilities, but Fred, George, and Ginny did not. Harry knew Fred and George were excellent secret keepers, but he wasn’t sure that it was really his secret to tell. The less people that knew, the better. And he didn’t want to have to explain all about Regulus Black to them, either.

Ginny and Hermione came running around the corner, giving Harry a perfect excuse to change the subject. 

Hermione hugged him tightly. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“It took a long time to pack,” Harry said.

The fire roared and turned green again, and James stepped onto the hearth. A great, big black dog came bounding out of the fire with him, nearly knocking over Harry and Hermione.

“Oh!” Mrs. Weasley said. “Where did this come from?”

“I hope it’s alright,” James said quickly. “Lily’s visiting her sister, so I’ve got to take care of the dog.”

Mrs. Weasley did not seem very keen on taking a large dog into her already crowded house. The kitchen barely fit the eleven people currently crowded in it. “Hermione’s got a cat here, and Ginny just got a new kitten, after her last cat ran off--”

“He’s very gentle,” James promised. “Not nearly as vicious as he looks.”

Padfoot made his way to the table where Bill and Charlie were seated. He seemed to know exactly who to go to, because as soon as he sat down in front of Charlie, Charlie slipped him a biscuit.

“He seems alright, Mum,” Charlie said. He gave Padfoot a pat between his ears. “Big, too. Part Newfoundland?”

“Er--probably,” James said. “He’s mostly just a mutt.”

Harry tried to hide his laughter behind his hand. He caught Ron and Hermione’s eyes, and they both looked bewildered. They must have recognized the dog as Sirius, but Harry was glad they had the sense not to say anything.

“Does he play fetch?” Charlie asked, and stood up. “He won’t bolt if I take him out in the yard will he?”

“He’ll be fine,” James said, surprised by how quickly Charlie had taken to Padfoot, and Padfoot didn’t seem to mind at all. He barked eagerly and ran to the door.

Molly jumped when the dog barked, and still looked worried as she watched Charlie take him out, but she didn’t protest any further. “I’m just in the middle of getting dinner together. Ron, why don’t you take Harry up to your room? You can show Mr. Potter and Mr. Lupin where they’ll be staying on your way up.”

“Sure,” Ron said, a little more glumly than Harry expected, but maybe it was only Harry’s imagination.

“You’re in our room, Harry,” Fred said as they all went for the stairs.

“We’re in Ron’s room,” corrected George. “Mr. Potter and Prof--er, Mr. Lupin are in our room.”

Fred and George led the way to the second floor, just past Ginny’s room.

“Here you are,” Fred said, spreading his hand as if he was showing them the very office of the Minister of Magic.

Remus set his bag by the door, and James took the backpack from Harry. The bedroom was surprisingly neat. Harry suspected Mrs. Weasley had put a lot of work into getting it in order, since the twins weren’t the most organized type of roommates, partially evidenced by the walls peppered with scorch marks.

“We’re grateful you’re letting us have it for the night,” Remus said.

“Get up to a lot of mischief in here, do you?” James asked with a crooked grin and scratched at one of the black marks.

“Loads,” George said.

“Speaking of,” Fred stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the door frame, “now that we’re on summer vacation, and since Mr. Lupin isn’t coming back to Hogwarts, could you tell us how you made that--”

Fred was cut off by a shriek that rocked the house as loud as any Howler Harry had ever heard. “FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY!”

“Upstairs we go,” Fred said quickly, pushing Ron up and pulling Ginny with him.

George pulled Hermione’s arm. “If we get up there fast enough, we can pretend we didn’t hear her.”

Harry followed quickly. “What’s the matter?”

“Got in a bit of a spot with Mum,” Fred said.

“Bit of a spot!” Ron said. “More like a row.”

“She wasn’t too happy with our O.W.L. report,” said George.

“You only got three O.W.L.s each,” Ginny said.

“That wasn’t even the worst of it,” Ron said. “When Mum found out instead of studying you spent all your time on those Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes--”

“What are Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?” Harry asked.

“I’m glad you asked, Harry,” said Fred as he pushed open the door to Ron’s room.

“Instead of going to Zonko’s in Hogsmeade for all your trickery needs, you can come straight to us,” George said. “Dungbombs and Ton-Tongue Toffee and Fake Wands--”

“That’s probably what Mum found,” said Fred. “I think I left one of the rubber chicken ones downstairs.”

Harry laughed. “That sounds really clever.”

Fred and George beamed, but Hermione frowned. Clearly she didn’t think very much of using time that should be spent studying for making jokes.

“Fred! George!” Mrs. Weasley shouted again, not quite so loudly, but definitely closer and more insistent. “Get down here at once!”

“We had stacks of order forms,” George said. “She burned them all. We’ll have to start from scratch when we get back to school.”

“Fred! George! I know you can hear me!”

“If you get back to school,” Ginny said, “Mum might wring your neck first.”

“That or Percy will,” George laughed.

“Fred! George! If I have to come up there, so help me--” But her footsteps were already starting up the stairs.

“Better face the music,” Fred said. “I’m sure it’ll just be dishes.”

As they opened the door, they could hear Percy’s voice, not quite shouting, but definitely raised so the rest of the house could hear him.

“Honestly, Mother, this report won’t write itself. Mr. Crouch expects it to be done as soon as possible.”

“Oh, I am sorry dear. You know I don’t mean to shout past your door.” Mrs. Weasley’s voice came up much quieter this time. And then, she must’ve seen Fred and George because it went up again. “You two get into the kitchen this minute! I want every one of those potatoes peeled until your hands as raw as--No, of course you can’t use your wands! What do you think--”

Ron closed the door. “It’s been like that all summer.” 

Now Harry was sure that Ron sounded upset, and he guessed he might be too, if he had to share a room with three other people, and his house had been full of his family arguing all summer. Harry had half a floor to himself and with Sirius coming to visit only about every other week, the house had been quiet. For Harry, a quiet summer was a dismal one. He was quite excited to be at the Burrow, with all its noise and crowded corners. He quickly looked for a change in subject, something that might cheer Ron up.

“Where is your new owl?” Harry asked.

“Pig?” Ron asked. “Probably off bothering Puck.”

“Who is Puck? Why is your owl named Pig?”

“His name is Pigwidgeon,” Ginny said. “And Puck’s the kitten Ron bought me for my birthday last week.”

“Happy Birthday,” Harry said, and Ginny suddenly went as scarlet as her hair. To her credit, Harry hadn’t heard nearly so many words out of her in the entire time he’d known her.

“Ginny,” Hermione said, “do you want to show Puck to Harry? I bet he’s following Crookshanks around the garden, like he was yesterday.”

Harry wasn’t sure if Ginny liked this idea because she was excited about her new cat, or because she wanted an excuse to get away. Either way, she left quickly.

The minute the door closed behind her, Hermione asked, “Harry, why is Sirius pretending to be your dad’s dog?”

He told Ron and Hermione how his mother had been invited to stay with Muggle relatives. Remus had to come with them because he needed the Wolfsbane Potion, and since they only had two tickets, they had to sneak Sirius into the Quidditch World Cup.

“That’s brilliant,” Ron said.

“It’s highly illegal,” Hermione sniffed. “If they get caught--”

“They’ll be fine,” Ron said. “Your dad’s like Fred and George--trouble never sticks.”

Harry thought that had proven pretty true, especially in these last few months, with Sirius up in front of the Wizengamot for aiding Regulus Black and Barty Crouch. “What’s it like with Percy working for Mr. Crouch?”

“Awful, really,” Ron said. “He never shuts up about his reports, and it’s always Mr. Crouch this and Mr. Crouch that.”

“Yeah, but I mean, is that weird, with Barty Crouch on the loose again? After he thought his son was dead. He’s the one who sent Regulus Black and Barty Crouch to Azkaban.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick glance.

“I asked him once,” Ron said, “and Percy got really mad about it. I guess his boss doesn’t think much of having a son who’s supposed to be in Azkaban, even if he is back from the dead or something.”

“How is Regulus Black?” Hermione asked. “I keep worrying the Ministry will find him, but I didn’t want to ask you in a letter.”

“He’s alright,” Harry said. “I haven’t seen him, except when he met my parents, but he’s living with Sirius, and I see Sirius sometimes.”

“I thought he’d want to get out of the country,” Ron said.

“Sirius says his family home is as safe from the Ministry as anywhere.” Harry didn’t understand why everyone said that, but it was something the adults repeated frequently. He knew old family homes, like his, often had magical spells to protect them. Surely Sirius’s family home had them too, but Harry didn’t know why it was somehow better than the Potters’ estate. “Uncle Remus spent the full moon there, and Sirius said they had a good time running around the house.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Will Mr. Lupin be alright this week?” Hermione asked. 

“Dad says--” But Harry didn’t get to finish explaining because the door burst open and Ginny appeared, holding a very small white kitten, speckled in either gray fur or dirt. Harry wasn’t sure which.

“Mum says to come set the table,” Ginny said in a rush. “And this is Puck.” She held her kitten out to Harry.

“He’s nice,” Harry said, not sure what you were supposed to say about a kitten.

The four of them went back downstairs. Apparently Fred and George had either finished or abandoned peeling potatoes, because they were outside with Bill and Charlie, cheering while their older brothers levitated the dining tables and crashed them against each other in a very loud and exciting battle. Padfoot ran circles between them, barking excitedly every time the tables collided.

Ron and Ginny quickly joined in the cheering, while Hermione watched nervously. Harry laughed, thinking this was exactly the sort of thing Sirius and his father might get up to if Lily had asked them to set the table.

Then a window opened and Percy stuck his head out. “Will you keep it down?” he shouted at them.

Bill looked up and said, “Sorry, Perce,” though his grin didn’t say he was very apologetic. “How’re the cauldron bottoms coming?”

“Very badly.” Percy slammed the window shut.

Charlie laughed and set his table down on the lawn. Bill fixed a few of the legs Charlie had knocked off of his then set it down next to Charlie’s. He was just laying a tablecloth over them when James and Remus came out of the house.

“Just when we were coming to see what all the commotion was about,” James said.

“I see you’re getting along with Padfoot,” Remus said.

“Padfoot?” Fred and George repeated at once.

“Is that his name?” Charlie said. “He’s very friendly. Quite intelligent, too. Do you think he might be part barghest?”

“His eyes aren’t exactly on fire, are they?” Bill laughed.

“Well, I don’t know--I breed dragons, not magical dogs.”

“I think this one’s all regular dog,” Remus said, and patted Padfoot’s ears. “Just a little large and a little dim.” 

The dog barked sharply, as if protesting, and nipped at Remus’s hand. Harry had to stifle a laugh, especially when he noticed Fred and George staring at him like they were asking him several questions, and their eyes were brimming with a good joke. Harry hadn’t thought to warn his parents that Fred and George knew about the Marauders’ nicknames for each other. Then again, his parents weren’t exactly careful about how often they used their names, and who they used them in front of.

By seven o’clock, Mrs. Weasley had dinner on the table, and all nine Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, James, and Remus, sat down to eat what looked and smelled like the best meal Harry had had since the end of term feast at Hogwarts. His parents were wonderful cooks, but there was nothing, in Harry’s opinion, like a large meal with good friends. He wished his house could be this crowded more often.

At one end, Mr. Weasley sat with Percy, who was still going on about his report. Harry was surprised Percy hadn’t brought it downstairs to read aloud to everyone, but decided not to make a joke about it in case Percy took the suggestion seriously.

“I’ve told Mr. Crouch that I’ll have it ready by Tuesday,” Percy was saying. “That’s a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he’ll be grateful I’ve done it in good time.”

“So you like working at the Ministry, then?” Remus, sitting across from him, asked.

“Oh, yes. I mean, it’s extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We’re just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman--”

“I like Ludo,” Mr. Weasley said. “He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor: His brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble--a lawnmower with unnatural powers--I smoothed the whole thing over.”

“I’ve heard he’s very generous, though I’ve personally never met him,” Remus said.

“Oh Bagman’s likable enough of course,” Percy said, “but how he ever got to be Head of Department… when I compare him to Mr. Crouch!”

“I take it you like Mr. Crouch very much,” Remus said with a faint smile.

Percy looked scandalized at the idea of disliking Mr. Crouch. “Well, I can’t see Mr. Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what’s happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?”

“Yes I was asking Ludo about that,” said Mr. Weasley, frowning. “He says Bertha’s not the sort to return from a holiday on time. But he did ask someone to look into it.”

“He mentioned it to an Auror at Alastor Moody’s retirement ceremony. I hardly say that’s asking someone to look into it.”

“How unfortunate,” Remus said. “I vaguely remember her name from school, but I can’t quite put a face to her--Oh, hello, Padfoot, no, stay down.”

Percy ignored the dog’s interruption and took a rather large sip of his elderflower wine. “Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr. Crouch was quite fond of her--but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. Of course, we’ve got enough on our plates without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we’ve got another big event to organize right after the World Cup.” The volume of his voice lilted upwards as he said this, and he glanced over at Harry and Ron out of the corner of his eye. “You know the one I’m talking about, Father, the top-secret one.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “He’s been going on about that since he started at the Ministry. It’s probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons.”

Harry laughed, but remembered what his mother had said about not wanting to come home for Christmas and wondered if Percy knew what that was about. If it had to do with dress robes, Harry didn’t want to know.

Mrs. Weasley’s scolding tone carried over from a few seats away, and Harry was surprised she wasn’t talking to Fred and George.

“Does it really need that piercing? And with a horrible great fang on it. Really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?”

“Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure,” said Bill, with the air of someone who had had many arguments like this over many years.

“And your hair’s getting silly, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley. “I wish you’d let me give it a trim….”

“I like it,” said Ginny, next to Bill. “You’re so old-fashioned, Mum.”

Mrs. Weasley sputtered. “Hardly! I let you hang that poster of Gwenith James, didn’t I?”

“Her name’s Gwenog Jones. And that’s fine, but you won’t let me play.”

“It’s dangerous--”

“Really, Mum,” Bill interrupted. “That argument worked when she was four, and Uncle Fabian and Gideon bought her a Comet for her birthday, but she’s thirteen now. She’s been flying with Fred and George almost as long as she could walk, whether you wanted her to or not. She’s a far sight better than I am.”

Ginny beamed with pride while Mrs. Weasley searched desperately for a counter argument.

Next to them, Fred, George, and Charlie were making their predictions for the Quidditch World Cup.

“It’s got to be Ireland,” Charlie said, stuffing potato in his mouth. “They flattened Peru in the semifinals.”

“Bulgaria’s got Viktor Krum, though,” said Fred.

“Krum’s one decent player. Ireland’s got seven.”

“I wish England had got through,” George sighed.

“That was embarrassing,” James, just to the left of Charlie, agreed.

“What happened?” asked Hermione.

“Went down to Transylvania,” Charlie said. “Three hundred and ninety to ten.”

“If you went out for England,” Ron said, “maybe they would have a decent Seeker.”

Charlie laughed. “Not by half. But the way you go on about it, I bet Harry could be playing pro in a few short years.”

Harry felt his ears grow warm. “I don’t think so. I’m not nearly as good as Viktor Krum.”

“He’s not much older than you are,” James said. “You never know what will happen if you keep practicing--oh, Padfoot, go bother Remus, why don’t you?”

Harry slipped a bit of steak into his hand and held it under the table. As he did so, Fred and George, sure that James was occupied by talking scores and stats of the Quidditch season with Charlie, leaned over to Harry. 

“Padfoot, eh?” Fred asked.

“Unfortunate that Sirius can’t come to the Quidditch Cup,” George said, though he didn’t sound like it was very unfortunate at all.

Padfoot, under the table, growled and barked sharply, startling Molly at the other end of the table.

“Not to worry,” Fred said. “We solemnly swear we won’t say a word.” He winked, and Harry wasn’t quite sure whether he was winking at George or at Padfoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criticisms, Comments, Headcanons, and Questions all appreciated and welcomed!


	6. The Portkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and James's conversation on the way to the Quidditch Cup is a bit more serious than Harry meant it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta, ageofzero, who puts up with my outpourings of activity and famines of inactivity with the patience of a saint.
> 
> While I was rereading this chapter in preparation to post, I realized "Will and Won't" is like, infinitely more sensible in light of this chapter. I should've waited to post that piece until after this chapter. Or, really, I should've waited to post until after "Aboard the Hogwarts Express," but I'm not that patient. It's already taking every ounce of my patience not to just spam you guys with the rest of the Quidditch Cup.

It was still dark when Mrs. Weasley came into Ron’s room to wake the boys. She shook each of them in turn, quietly urging them out of bed.

Harry was certainly not ready as she put a hand on his shoulder. Even as excited as he had been for the Quidditch Cup that evening, his body felt as heavy as a giant’s purse. He might’ve fallen asleep again if it weren’t for Fred and George’s grumbling as they got up and got dressed. It wasn’t until Ron tumbled to the floor with a loud thud that Harry decided he shouldn’t let himself be left behind.

Downstairs, Mrs. Weasley was spooning breakfast onto plates. Mr. Weasley was counting the tickets, and separated out three. He tucked them under the cat on the mantle.

“Morning, boys,” Mr. Weasley said with a smile. “What do you think?” He stretched out his arms so they could see he was wearing a golfing sweater and jeans that were just a bit too large, held up with a leather belt. “Proper Muggle attire and everything, eh?”

As far as Harry could tell, it looked fine. He nodded sleepily, and Fred and George mumbled something that sounded at least a little encouraging.

Harry sat down next to Ron at the table and and started in on the porridge. The warm food helped wake him up a little. Then his dad came downstairs, unusually alert for the morning--Harry was sure his grogginess was inherited--and whispered something to Mrs. Weasley. She handed him a small vial from a cabinet above the stove, and James disappeared back upstairs.

Harry instantly felt more awake. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Just fine, dear,” Mrs. Weasley smiled, and handed him a piece of toast. “Eat up. You’ve got quite a walk ahead of you.

“Where’re Percy, Bill, and Charlie?” Fred asked, and covered a yawn with the back of his hand.

“They’ll come along later,” Mr. Weasley said, and sat down to eat.

“Can’t we go later, too?” Ron asked.

“Goodness,” Mr. Weasley laughed. “I couldn’t Side-Along all of you. No, they’ll be Apparating to the camping site later today. There’s a convenient wood near the stadium for that, so they don’t run into any Muggles.”

“I bet I could Apparate,” George said.

“And splinch yourself in the process!” Mrs. Weasley said, marching back into the kitchen. Hermione and Ginny were not far behind her.

“Why do we have to be up so early?” Ginny asked as she sat down to breakfast.

“We have a bit of a walk,” Mr. Weasley explained. “We’ve got to make sure we’re at the Portkey on time, or we’ll miss it.”

“I’ve never traveled by Portkey before,” said Hermione.

“We did it for the last Quidditch Cup,” Harry said. “Mum didn’t want to Apparate across the pond and Dad didn’t want to take a Muggle airplane. But Mum got Portkey sick and missed the first day of the match.”

“A Muggle airplane sounds like it would have been fascinating,” Mr. Weasley said.

“It would’ve taken a whole day, though.”

“But can’t all wizards just use Muggle travel?” Hermione asked. “It would be a lot easier than organizing a lot of Portkeys, wouldn’t it?”

“Statute of Secrecy,” explained Mr. Weasley. “And we don’t have to be discreet just about getting to the Cup, but even when we’re at the Cup. It’s an enormous international event, coordinating so many wizards from all over the world and trying to keep Muggle eyes away. Percy’s office really is up to their hats in work.”

James came back downstairs and returned the vial Molly had given him to the cupboard above the stove. “Did you let the dog in?” he asked.

“No, sorry,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I forgot.” She didn’t sound much like she’d forgotten about the dog at all.

James opened the back door of the kitchen and immediately, Padfoot came running in and barked sharply at James.

“Hey, people are sleeping. And anyway, it wasn’t my idea to leave you out all night. Maybe if you hadn't barked so much at dinner--Don’t give me that look. Go on, second floor, on your left.”

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley watched as the large black dog bounded upstairs. Fred leaned over and whispered to Harry, “Not very subtle, are they?”

James didn’t seem to realize Mr and Mrs. Weasley were staring until he sat down at the table. His ears suddenly went red. “He’s a very smart dog. Remus trained him well.”

“Where is Uncle Remus?” asked Harry.

“Sleeping.”

“Isn’t he coming?”

“He’ll be along later with Bill, Charlie, and Percy,” James said, then added after a moment’s pause, “if he’s feeling up to it.”

“Not to worry,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I’ll keep him quite comfortable here, and he’ll be there before you know it.”

Harry wondered what Mrs. Weasley knew about treating werewolf aches, but he didn’t have time to ask. Mr. Weasley announced it was time to leave, and James hastily shoved a piece of toast in his mouth and grabbed an apple off the table.

They were just at the door when Mrs. Weasley said, “George!” very sharply and every Weasley jumped.

“What is it, Mum?” George asked, and made a show of checking his shoes, like he might have left dirt in the house.

“What is in your pocket?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t you lie to me!” Mrs. Weasley took her wand out of her apron, pointed it at George’s pocket, and said, “ _Accio!_ ”

George’s pockets shot out small, bright-colored wrappers, as quick and colorful as firecrackers, but with a lot less bang and a lot more of George desperately grabbing to catch them.

“We told you to destroy these!” Mrs. Weasley said, catching what were clearly Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes candies. “Empty your pockets, both of you!”

Harry and Ron watched uncomfortably as Mrs. Weasley used her Summoning Charm to ferret out the candies from the twins’ pockets, as well as the lining of George’s jacket and the turn-ups of Fred’s jeans.

“We spent six months developing those!” Fred said angrily as she threw them into the kitchen fire. A few sparked dangerously, but she ignored it.

“A fine way to spend six months! No wonder you didn’t get more O.W.L.s!”

The goodbyes were a little uncomfortable. Mrs. Weasley still looked ready to lock the twins in their room, but it seemed taking the Quidditch Cup away from them would be too strong a punishment, even for her. The twins, however, thought she had crossed the line already, and did not even say goodbye as they left.

“Have a lovely time,” Mrs. Weasley said to Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione, “and behave yourselves!” she called after the twins. “I’ll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday,” she told Mr. Weasley, “and I’m sure Remus will be feeling well enough by then to Apparate,” she said to James.

“Maybe have Bill or Charlie Apparate with the dog,” James suggested. “I’d take him now, but he’s actually very good at taking care of Remus.”

Mrs. Weasley did not seem especially convinced of this, but she didn’t argue. She kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek and hugged Ginny, then they were off.

Ginny ran to catch up with Fred and George. Ron and Hermione fell into step beside each other, Hermione pestering Mr. Weasley with questions about the Quidditch World Cup and how everyone traveled, and how Portkeys were made. Mr. Weasley had all sorts of questions in turn for her, asking about football tournaments and Muggle stadiums. Ron didn't seem particularly interested in either side of the conversation, but looked too tired to participate anyway.

Harry walked with his dad, who was just finishing his toast and starting on the apple he’d taken from the Burrow.

“Is Uncle Remus really okay?” Harry asked.

“He’s fine. Just the usual aches. A strenuous hike this early in the morning seemed like a bad idea to both of us. He should be fine this afternoon. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“You’re worrying about it.”

James laughed. “I am. Mostly because if he doesn’t come to the Cup today, I’ll have to Apparate back tonight to fix his potion.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley know, though, don’t they? Everyone found out at the end of school last year. Could you ask them for help?”

This suggestion seemed to trouble James, and Harry really couldn’t understand why.

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have been gracious enough to let us stay in their home for an evening so we could hike with them this morning. I don’t want to impose on them any more than we already have. Besides, it’s a very difficult potion. Your mother and I are practised in it, but I don’t think it would be good to assume Mrs. Weasley is up to the task.”

Harry thought that was reasonable. He wondered if Fred, George, Ron, or Ginny actually had told their parents about Remus being a werewolf. Surely Percy would have, at the very least. Despite that, Harry hadn’t noticed anyone treating Remus any differently at dinner last night. It had been as if nothing had changed. It was encouraging to know there were still kind people in the world, people who wouldn’t treat Remus any differently for being a werewolf.

“Dad, when I was in the hospital, Snape said something to Dumbledore that I didn’t understand.”

James had a small smile on the corner of his mouth. “Snape says a lot of things people don’t understand.”

“He said that he wasn’t the only one who believed Sirius had betrayed you and Mum. What was he talking about? Uncle Remus told me about the time Sirius told Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow, but that didn’t have anything to do with Mum. Remus said he’d tell me what Snape meant later, but I haven’t been able to ask him.”

The cloud that passed over James’s face made Harry regret bringing it up. It was suddenly painfully obvious to Harry that the night Snape had talked about meant the night that Voldemort had attacked his parents. That was the only thing that would make his father look so hurt all of a sudden, and Harry wished he hadn’t said anything. Two conversations about that night in less than a week sounded like a little much.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to--”

“It’s alright,” James said. “Your mother and I promised no more secrets, right?” But there was no smile or joke in the corner of his mouth like usual, and he kept his eyes on the horizon as they walked. “When your Mum and I went into hiding, Dumbledore suggested we make Sirius our Secret Keeper. That meant no one would be able to find us, and those who knew where we were wouldn’t be able to tell anyone. Only Sirius would have that power. Your mother and I agreed with Dumbledore, that this would be the best way to keep you safe. But when we told Sirius the plan, he disagreed. Everyone, on both sides of the war, knew Sirius and I were best friends. He was worried something would happened to him, and the secret would no longer be safe. He suspected one of our friends was a spy, so without anyone but me, Sirius, and your mum knowing, we made Peter Pettigrew our Secret Keeper. When Peter told You-Know-Who where we were hiding, people were quick to blame Sirius.”

Harry didn’t understand. “How could anyone think Sirius was a spy?”

“It was a dark time. There was a lot of distrust on both sides. Sirius was quickly arrested and sent to Azkaban without a trial.”

“But you and Mum were able to tell them the truth, right? And Uncle Remus….”

In the graying light of the sunrise, James’s face seemed to age a few years in the span of a few seconds. “There were a few days that went by while your mum and I fought to get Sirius released. Some insisted our memories had been modified, or we were cursed to lie. Your mother and I endured a lot of poking and prodding until the Ministry was finally satisfied we were telling the truth.”

But Harry knew his father was intentionally avoiding something. “Where was Uncle Remus?”

“Babysitting you for a lot of it.”

“Dad.”

James let out a heavy breath, and Harry didn’t think it was because they’d started the steep climb up Stoatshead Hill. “Remus believed Sirius was the traitor. Sirius had thought it was Remus. They didn’t get over it very quickly.”

Harry could remember many fights between Sirius and Remus, or even Sirius and his parents, but none that lasted more than a day or two. As long as Harry could remember Remus and Sirius, they’d been the closest of friends.

But Remus had said something about an old hurt between them, not easily forgotten, when he’d taught Harry how to cast a Patronus charm. Perhaps it was that same fight.

“But they get along fine now.”

“True, but Sirius has had a hard time forgiving himself for thinking poorly of Remus.”

Harry was quickly running out of breath as they climbed. It felt like walking up a wall. “Is that why Sirius is always nicer to Remus than he is to you?”

James tried to laugh, but it was breathless, and he pressed a hand to the stitch in his side as they came up over the crest of the hill. “You’re quite the observationist. How about you start observing that Portkey?”

Arthur Weasley and his children were already scouting the top of the hill, looking for the innocuous object that would transport them all to the Quidditch World Cup.

Harry had barely caught his breath, though, when he saw someone he didn’t recognize across the hill, waving something above his head.

“Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we’ve got it!”

The man walked towards them, and Harry realized there was someone else with him, someone that Harry did recognize. It was Cedric Diggory, Seeker and Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team at Hogwarts, and one of Hogwarts’ prefects.

“Amos!” Mr. Weasley said. “Had a bit of a walk, didn’t we?”

Amos laughed, a loud, low-bellied laugh that seemed to come from deep in his stomach. He was ruddy-faced, with a thick beard. He reminded Harry of a smaller Hagrid. And he was carrying a moldy-looking boot. Harry figured that had to be the Portkey--that or Amos had peculiar taste in luggage.

“Ced and I were up at two to get here on time!” Amos said. “Wouldn’t miss it for a sackful of galleons. Mind you, it cost about that much. Though we got off easy by the look of it. Merlin, are all of these yours, Arthur?”

Mr. Weasley laughed. “Only the redheads. This is Ron’s friend Hermione, and this here is James Potter and his son Harry. James, Amos Diggory, Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

James smiled and shook Amos Diggory’s hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

“All mine, to be sure,” said Mr. Diggory. “This here is my boy Cedric. Good friends with your son, I hear.”

“We’re not good friends, Dad,” Cedric mumbled. “We just played each other in Quidditch a couple times.” His ears were about as red as Harry’s.

“Bitter about losing the Cup?” Fred asked. He and George had also played Quidditch against Cedric Diggory, and Harry knew they were quite proud to have taken the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup last year.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Diggory said. “You’ve talked about Harry quite a bit. Playing against him will be something to tell your grandchildren, you know. Man-to-man against the famous Harry Potter.”

“Quidditch is a team sport,” Cedric said, but his dad didn’t seem to hear him.

“And you still lost,” George added.

“Shame there won’t be a rematch, eh?” said James, with a conspiratorial wink at Mr. Diggory.

“What?” asked Harry, suddenly forgetting all embarrassment. “What does that mean?”

“Nearly time,” Mr. Weasley said before Harry could get an answer. He glanced around the hilltop. “Lovegoods should be there already, and the Fawcetts aren’t going, so we’re it. Now, you just need to touch the Portkey. That’s all--a finger will do.”

All ten of them crowded around the old boot, holding a lace or just barely touching the sole. Mr. Weasley checked his watch and counted down the seconds for them. “Just six past… that’s it; two, one--”

The words were barely out of Mr. Weasley’s mouth when Harry felt jerked forward, like something had grabbed his insides and pulled. After having travelled by Portkey once across the pond, Harry thought this would seem like nothing. It was in fact just as disorienting now as it had been then. Wind rushed past him and everything was a blur of color. When he finally touched down he stumbled forward. He had just managed to get his balance when Ron stumbled into him and they both fell to the ground.

He wasn’t the only one. Everyone was picking themselves up from the dewy grass except Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, James, and Cedric. James leaned down to help Harry up and a voice cut across the grass, “Seven past five, from Stoatshead Hill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions, criticisms, and headcanons always appreciated.


	7. Bagman and Crouch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets two very important Ministry members.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my beta ageofzero who has the patience of an elephant when it comes to my writes and rewrites.

Harry let his dad help him to his feet. He brushed the grass off of his clothes and straightened his glasses. They didn’t seem broken; traveling by Portkey had just been a bit startling.

They’d been transported to a misty moor, mostly empty. There were two wizards waiting for them, dressed like Muggles, but not like any Muggles Harry had ever seen. One was wearing a kilt on bottom and a poncho on top; the other had galoshes up to his thighs over a tweed suit.

Mr. Diggory handed them the boot, and the two wizards put it into a pile with an old newspaper, a deflated football, and an empty drinking can. Harry thought he would have preferred traveling with an old newspaper than a grubby boot, especially since there were so many of them.

“Morning, Basil,” said Mr. Weasley, cheerfully, to the man with the kilt on.

“Hello, Arthur.” Basil wasn’t nearly so cheery. “Not on duty, eh? Lucky man.” He consulted the parchment in his hand, running the feather of his quill down the list. “Let’s see… Weasley, first field you come to, quarter mile walk over there. Site manager’s called Mr. Roberts. Potter… ah, same field, and Diggory…. Second field. Ask for Mr. Payne.”

Harry did not relish more walking after that hike, but he trudged off after the others without complaint. There wasn’t much to see in the morning mist, not for a while. Eventually, though, they came to a cottage near a copse of trees and beyond it, Harry could see the dim, blurred shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents.

James and Mr. Weasley said goodbye to Mr. Diggory. The twins made sure to stop and shake Cedric’s hand.

“Be sure to tell your grandkids you went on a hike with Harry Potter,” Fred said, just low enough to escape Mr. Diggory’s notice.

Harry knew Fred only meant to make fun of Cedric--Fred and George had never treated his fame as anything more than a good joke--but Harry still felt embarrassed by the comment.

In front of the cottage stood a man who looked only a little older than Harry’s dad, dressed in proper Muggle clothes.

“Good morning!” said Mr. Weasley brightly. “Mr. Roberts, is it?”

“Aye,” the man said, looking over the large group suspiciously.

“Weasley, two tents, booked a couple of days ago?”

Mr. Roberts looked at a list on the cottage porch, then at the group. “Two tents for all of you?”

“Potter, one tent,” James said, raising his hand to draw Mr. Roberts’ attention.

Mr. Roberts nodded, as if three tents made more sense for eight people. Harry was glad that Mr. Roberts didn’t know another four and a dog were joining them.

“Weasley, space up by the wood up there. Potter, two sites further. Just the one night for you both?”

“Er, for now, if that’s alright,” James said.

Mr. Roberts frowned. “Aye, just pay for it tomorrow morning if you want to stay another day. Pay for today’s now.”

“Right.” Mr. Weasley pulled the Muggle money out of his pocket and turned to Hermione.

James did the same. “Sorry, Lily usually does this,” he said, as Hermione counted the paper bills for them.

“You foreign?” Mr. Roberts asked as he took the money from James and Mr. Weasley.

“Er--what?”

“Foreign. Not the first ones who’ve had trouble with money.” Mr. Roberts handed them their change. “Never been this crowded, either. Hundreds of pre-bookings. People from all over. Weirdos, too. One fellow in a kilt and a poncho.”

“Shouldn’t he?” Mr. Weasley asked, pocketing the spare bills.

“It’s like some sort of… I dunno, like some sort of rally. They all seem to know each other. Like a big party.”

There was a loud crack and a wizard appeared behind Mr. Roberts. “ _Obliviate_!” he said, wand pointed at the Muggle campground manager. Mr. Roberts’ face relaxed and Harry knew his memory had just been modified to forget his suspicions. He handed Mr. Weasley and James each a map and sent them on their way.

The wizard who had modified Mr. Roberts’s memory walked with them, grumbling to Mr. Weasley. “Needs ten charms a day to keep him happy. Blimey, I’ll be glad when this is over.” Harry figured the poor Ministry wizard had spent more than just this morning running around keeping wizards from breaking the Statute of Secrecy. He barely said more than a hello to James before running off to tell a small child that had somehow gotten a hold of a wand that no, he should not enlarge that slug.

As they walked to the campsite, the mist started clearing. Little by little, Harry began to get a good look at some of the other, more extravagant tents. A few had chimneys or gardens or bells, but one in particular was made of striped silk, large enough to be a small palace, with live peacocks tethered at the entrance. Harry wrinkled his nose. There was only one family he could think of that would bring live peacocks to the Quidditch World Cup.

The Weasleys’ campsite was very close to the Quidditch field, separated only by a small wood. James and Harry found their campsite a little further down, as Mr. Roberts had said.

James set the bag down on their campsite and pulled out the tent and his wand. “Want to help me out?” James asked. “The Trace shouldn’t pick up on you in this mess.”

Harry eagerly got out his wand and helped levitate the pieces of the tent while James did the more complicated spellwork of putting the pieces together. Harry wished he could do his charms silently, like his father did, but he still needed a verbal “ _Leviosa_ ” for each piece. This was, in fact, his first time actually performing magic outside of school. He’d gotten in trouble his second year for using a Levitation Charm in the presence of Muggles, but that hadn’t actually been him. It was only that the Trace that kept him from being reckless with magic until he was seventeen detected magical spells around him. In a place like the Quidditch World Cup, the Trace was probably going off for him and countless other young witches and wizards. There was no way for the Ministry to really tell he was performing underage magic.

Harry and James were nearly finished when they were interrupted by a loud crack, and the same Ministry official that had modified Mr. Roberts’s memory earlier appeared beside James.

“Oh, hello,” James said with a smile. “Careful you don’t splinch yourself, Apparating about in your state. You could take a break, have a cup of tea? I can get the kettle going for you--”

The Ministry official spluttered as James talked, then finally managed to interrupt with, “Mr. Potter, I expect you to know better. No magic in front of the Muggles. And your son is not seventeen, I’m sure!”

“He’s gifted for his age, isn’t he? Come off it, Bert, the Muggles can’t see what we’re doing from here.”

“Where’s your wife? She should be able to help you do this.”

“Staying with Muggle relations, actually. She’s sorry she can’t be here.”

“I’m going to have to fine you if you don’t stop--”

“Not to worry. We’ve finished. Harry, shall we go see how Mr. Weasley is faring?” Before Bert could argue further, James was steering Harry off. “Get some rest, Bert. You look like you’ve had a long day.”

Harry and James left Bert stuttering, while they took the short walk back to the Weasley’s two tents, where Hermione was just helping Mr. Weasley hammer in the last of the stakes--without magic.

“Dad, can I go visit Luna Lovegood?” Ginny asked.

“What?” Mr. Weasley accidentally hammered his thumb. “Oh! Ah--yes, darling, be careful.” He pounded the hammer against the stake one more time, then stood up to survey their hard work. “It looks really good, Hermione, thank you,” Mr. Weasley said.

Hermione beamed with pride. “Mum, Dad, and I camp a lot during holiday. It’s a lot of fun. But will all of you fit in here?”

The two tents looked, on the outside, like they could fit about two or three comfortably. The one for Ginny and Hermione wouldn’t be a problem. The one for all of the Weasley boys, however, was going to be a little more crowded. 

“Go inside and see, Hermione,” Harry suggested with a grin.

They all climbed into the Weasley’s tent and it was a tight fit, but not as tight as one might think for eight people in a two-person tent.

“It is a bit snug,” Mr. Weasley admitted. “Had to borrow it from Perkins down at the office.”

The tent had three rooms, including a kitchen and a bathroom. The bedroom had four bunk beds stacked inside, perfect for the seven Weasleys who would be staying in here. It was a little dusty from disuse, but that could easily be cleaned up. The only down side as far as Harry could tell was that the tent smelled a little bit like cat litter. He figured, though, that would air out before the day was over.

Mr. Weasley picked up a kettle from the stove. “Looks like we’ll need to get water.”

“I can take care of it,” James said, and pulled his wand from his pocket.

Mr. Weasley’s jaw dropped in indignation. “Absolutely not! We have to do this properly, like Muggles. Statute of Secrecy and all.”

“We’re inside the tent,” James said.

But Mr. Weasley insisted, and Ron volunteered to go get the water. There was a tap marked on the map Mr. Roberts had given them. Harry and Hermione went with him. James stayed behind to help Mr. Weasley finish cleaning out the dusty tent. Harry thought it was probably best that his dad stay with Mr. Weasley if they wanted to avoid getting in trouble with the Ministry.

Before they headed for the tap, Harry showed Ron and Hermione his parents’ tent. It was a little bigger than Mr. Weasley’s. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a kitchen. Less like an old flat and more like a small house.

“Do you guys camp much?” Hermione asked him while Ron inspected the room Harry would be staying in, all by himself.

“No,” Harry said. “I think Dad and his friends used to, but I guess they didn’t after Mum came along.”

“It’s clean,” Ron said, “for being so old, I mean.”

“Dusting Charm. Dad took care of it yesterday with Uncle Remus.”

Harry took the kettle from their tent and Hermione grabbed a pot.

As they walked through the campgrounds, those who had stayed the night before were slowly waking up. They passed tents in all sorts of colors, and Harry caught bits of languages from all over the world. It reminded him a lot of when he had attended the Quidditch World Cup at the age of ten. It had all the same vibrancy and excitement humming in the air.

They passed a tent with two little girls on brooms charmed to skim the grass, rather than fly ridiculously high. A Ministry official ran over to tell them to get down, there could be Muggles nearby.

People were starting fires in front of their tents as they woke up for the day. A few were struggling with flint rocks or matches. Most looked around for a moment before discreetly lighting the fire pit with their wand. They passed one group of wizards speaking with an accent that Harry vaguely recognized as from Africa, roasting a rabbit on a purple fire. Harry wondered how long before a Ministry official came to put it out.

They passed another group of witches with American accents, sitting under a glittering banner that read, “The Salem Witches’ Institute,” and they were nearly run over by a group of teenagers dressed in very unusual Muggle clothes, who were chasing each other across the field. One was carrying what Harry thought was a very oddly shaped Quaffle. A boy in a poncho grabbed another by the T-shirt and threw him to the ground.

“Cheater!” the boy in the T-shirt cried out in an American accent.

“You said there were no rules!” the other yelled back.

“That’s in Quidditch!” A third shouted.

Harry very nearly shouted after them that there were several hundred fouls that could be committed in Quidditch, but they went running off again before he could.

“What were they playing?” Ron asked Hermione.

She shrugged. “Rugby? I don’t know.”

“What are they doing at the Quidditch Cup if they don’t even know how to play Quidditch?” Ron frowned.

“Most Americans don’t play Quidditch,” Harry said. “At the last Cup, some of the other kids tried to teach us how to play something else on brooms, but I don’t really remember the rules. We did get in trouble for flying, though.”

“You guys go lots of places, don’t you?” Ron asked.

“Not really. Quidditch games, I guess. But I don’t think Mum and Dad like traveling. We don’t really take trips places.” Harry hadn’t really thought about it until Hermione’s family went to France for the summer last year, and even Ron’s family had gone to Egypt. Harry’s family rarely went anywhere. He’d never thought it odd, until recently.

“Your mum probably gets tired of telling your dad not to use magic,” Hermione said with a small laugh.

Harry laughed too, knowing it was absolutely true. Sirius loved doing things the Muggle way, a lot like Mr. Weasley did. Remus and Lily had both grown up with Muggle parents and could adjust when they had to. James saw absolutely no sense in Muggle things when magic worked just fine. There had been many fights over putting electricity in the house. It was one of the few battles Lily hadn’t won.

“Is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?” Ron asked suddenly.

It wasn’t just Ron. Suddenly every tent they passed was covered in shamrocks, so many that they looked less like tents and more like little hills dotting the moor.

“Harry! Ron! Hermione!” a voice shouted from behind them.

They turned to see their friend Seamus Finnigan poking his head out of one of the tents. He climbed out, and behind him came Dean Thomas. A woman followed them, older, with fair hair like Seamus’s and a twinkle in her dark eyes. Her crooked grin and thin eyebrows suggested she could only be Seamus’s mother.

“Like the decorations?” Seamus asked with a laugh. “Ministry’s not too happy.”

“Ah, why shouldn’t we show our colors?” Mrs. Finnigan said. “You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You’ll be supporting Ireland of course,” she said, and all three agreed quickly.

But as soon as they were away from the Irish covered tents, Harry said, “Let’s see what the Bulgarians have.”

The Bulgarian tents did not disappoint. They were easy to find, with their white, green, and red banners flying high above their camp. Apart from the banners, Ron, Harry, and Hermione were greeted by a very stern looking face plastered on posters on every tent. For a moment, Harry thought it was a Muggle poster, because it didn’t move, but then he realized that the poster was indeed blinking at them.

“Viktor Krum,” Ron whispered in awe.

“Who?” Hermione asked.

“The Bulgarian Seeker,” Harry answered. “He’s really good.”

“Really good?” Ron repeated in shock. “He’s a legend! And just barely eighteen or something.”

“He looks grumpy,” Hermione said.

Ron scoffed. “Who cares what he looks like? He’s a genius. You just wait until tonight. You’ll see.”

Finally they made it to the tap across the field. There was a group of young witches and wizards talking in French in front of them. One of the shorter witches glanced at Ron and giggled. Ron’s ears went bright red.

“What are they saying?” he asked Hermione.

Hermione shrugged. “How should I know?”

The French teenagers in front of them were heralded by a boy who shouted in French, but with a heavy Spanish accent. He approached the group, then dragged one of the girls away. This surprised Harry for some reason. 

“I wonder how they know each other,” he said, watching them run off toward a collection of blue tents.

“Beauxbatons, probably,” Hermione said.

“What’s that?” asked Harry.

“The wizarding school on the continent. You didn’t think Hogwarts was the only one, did you?”

“No.” It made sense there would be more than one school, but Harry hadn’t thought about it before. There had never been any reason for him to think he’d go to a school other than Hogwarts. It was where his family had gone to school for generations.

“Bill had a penfriend in Brazil when he was in school,” Ron said. “Castelle-something? He was supposed to visit on a sort of exchange trip, but Mum and Dad couldn’t afford it.”

Harry supposed all the American wizards he’d met at the Quidditch Cup last year all had to go to school somewhere. He wondered just how many different schools there were in the world, how many different witches and wizards were out there.

After getting water, they walked back to camp. They ran into Oliver Wood, former captain of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. He told Harry he’d just signed with Puddlemere United, and wanted to introduce Harry to his parents. Harry promised to come by with his dad that evening to say hello. They saw Ernie Macmillan, another friend from school, who asked Harry if he was going to get stung by another bumblebee, and Harry had to tell Ron and Hermione the slightly embarrassing story of getting stung at the last Quidditch World Cup. The getting stung part wasn’t embarrassing. It was the part where his dad insisted he’d been hit with a Stinging Jinx and was ready to hex whoever had done it. Lily eventually calmed him down and was able to treat the swelling, but she hadn’t let James live that panic down. And apparently the Macmillans hadn’t either. 

They met Cho Chang, the Seeker for the Ravenclaw team. Harry tried to say hi, and sloshed water all down the front of his shirt. Ron’s smirk grated on Harry for the rest of the walk back to the tent.

“You’ve been ages,” said George.

“Met a few people.” Ron set the kettle down next to the tent. “You get that fire started yet?”

“Dad and Mr. Potter are fighting over the matches,” Fred said.

Mr. Weasley had a box of matches and was struggling to light one. There were a few broken ones scattered on the ground. He was hampered partially by inexperience, but also by trying to keep James away from the fire.

“If you’d just let me--” James was saying.

“No--nearly got it--” And the match did indeed spark and catch in Mr. Weasley’s fingertips, but he was so surprised at his success, he dropped it.

Hermione intervened before James could get out his wand. “Let me show you.” And she arranged the wood properly then showed James and Mr. Weasley how to light the match.

They got the fire lit, but had to wait before it would be hot enough to cook on. Mr. Weasley’s tent wasn’t far from the wood, and it seemed the Quidditch stadium must be just on the other side, because Ministry officials walked back and forth constantly. Most of them knew Mr. Weasley or James or both.

Harry noticed that most of the officials gave Mr. Weasley little more than a nod as they passed. They seemed incredibly busy. That didn’t stop Mr. Weasley from waving and saying hello. He also told them what each of the Ministry workers did, if only for the benefit of Harry and Hermione. The Weasley children had seen enough of the Ministry, and James, it seemed, had too.

“That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office….Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he’s with the Committee on Experimental Charms. He’s had those horns for a while… Hello, Arnie! He’s an Obliviator, member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know… and that’s Bode and Croaker. They’re unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries. No idea what they get up to.”

The Ministry officials that saw James sitting with them often did a double take, searching until their eyes landed on Harry. He tried to adjust his bangs without his friends noticing.

As one official passed by, he waved at Mr. Weasley and James and said, “Potter, where’s your better half?”

“My wife or my brother?” James answered with a grin.

The man didn’t seem to have time or care for an answer. He only laughed and moved on.

“He’s the Head of Regulation of Magical Substances,” James said, “but I have no idea what his name is.”

“Andrews,” Mr. Weasley filled in.

“That’s right! We were in school together. Didn’t do me any favors, though, when I needed some potion brewing permits a few years ago,” James grumbled.

Harry was about seven years old when the Wolfsbane Potion was invented. James and Lily had fought hard for a copy of the recipe and the permission to brew it at home. Harry realized he actually had no idea how that had ended. He remembered his parents, Remus, and Sirius arguing about it--Sirius suggested breaking into the inventor’s home and stealing the recipe at one point--but he had no idea how the issue had been resolved. He’d assumed they’d gotten what they needed, but now he started to wonder if maybe what his family did every month was just as illegal as being unregistered Animagi.

Harry was nearly knocked over by a large black dog that suddenly came running out of the woods. Bill, Charlie, Percy, and Remus weren’t far behind.

“Just Apparated, Dad,” Percy called as they approached, but he was overrun by the dog barking.

“Feeling better, Remus?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“Much, thank you,” Remus said as he sat down by the fire. Mr. Weasley had just put on the eggs and sausage and the smell was starting to filter through the camp.

When Mr. Weasley had finished the cooking and was handing out the food, Remus opted for just a cup of tea. James looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end he held his tongue and tossed a sausage to Padfoot, who had taken a seat between Remus and Charlie.

They were about halfway through lunch when they saw a man wearing bright yellow Quidditch robes, decorated with thick black stripes and a wasp emblazoned on the chest. He was tall, fair-haired, and even at a distance, Harry could tell he had a boyish grin on his face.

“That’s Ludo Bagman!” Mr. Weasley said. “Man of the hour!” and he motioned for Ludo Bagman to join them.

Unlike every other Ministry member, Ludo Bagman seemed to be in no hurry, and came and sat down without hesitation. “Arthur, old man,” he said, practically bouncing. “What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming, hardly a hiccough in the arrangements, not a thing for me to do! Ah--James, old boy,” Ludo reached across the fire to shake James’s hand. “Haven’t seen you in ages. You never visit.”

James smiled politely. “Busy at home.”

“Marriage, eh? I told you you ought to play instead of settle down, but you just couldn’t help it. So this must be Harry Potter! Spitting image, really.”

Harry grinned and waved. He couldn’t help but notice Ludo Bagman’s eyes flick across his forehead. His scar, however, was well hidden by his hair.

“And these are mine,” Mr. Weasley said. “Percy--he’s just started at the Ministry. Fred--no, George, sorry, that’s Fred--Bill, Charlie, Ron, and Ginny. And this is Hermione Granger, a friend of Ron and Harry. Everyone, Ludo Bagman. He’s the reason we have tickets.”

Ludo Bagman waved the comment off. “It was nothing, really.” He put his hands into his pockets and they jingled. “Fancy a flutter on the match, boys?” he asked, glancing between James and Mr. Weasley.

He hardly glanced at Remus, and Harry wondered why no one had introduced Remus to Bagman. He couldn’t tell if this bothered Remus or not, but he assumed Padfoot would be growling if some sort of offense had been committed. Harry filed the question away for another time, when Ludo Bagman had gone, and maybe all the Weasleys weren’t around.

“A Galleon on Ireland to win?” Mr. Weasley suggested.

“A Galleon?” Ludo Bagman looked a bit disappointed. “Any other takers?”

“I’ll put five on Ireland,” James said.

“Excellent!” Ludo said.

“We’ll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, and three Knuts,” Fred said, quickly pooling his money with George, “that Ireland wins--but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh, and we’ll throw in a fake wand.”

Percy tried to stop Fred from pulling out what must’ve been the last of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes contraband, and said, “You don’t want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that.”

Ludo Bagman, however, seemed delighted as he took the wand, and it turned into a rubber chicken with a squawk so loud that Padfoot got to his feet and started barking.

Ludo Bagman roared with laughter. “I haven’t seen one that convincing in years! I’d pay five galleons for that!”

Fred and George beamed.

“Boys,” Mr. Weasley said quietly, “that’s all your savings. I don’t want you gambling--”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Arthur,” interrupted Ludo. “They’re old enough to know what they want. You reckon Ireland will win, but Krum’ll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance.” He scribbled down the three bets into his notebook and handed them each slips of paper. “Couldn’t do me a brew, I suppose? Keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number’s making difficulties, and I can’t understand a word he’s saying. Barty’ll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages.”

“Mr. Crouch?” Percy said. “He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll--”

“Anyone can speak Troll,” Fred laughed. “All you do is point and grunt.”

James tried to hide his laugh at Percy’s expense, though unsuccessfully, as he passed a cup of tea to Ludo Bagman.

“Any news about Bertha Jorkins, yet, Ludo?” Mr. Weasley asked. 

Ludo Bagman took his tea. “Not a dicky bird.” But he didn’t sound worried. “She’ll turn up. Fresh manicure and hairdo, and a dozen stories about everyone she met.”

“You don’t think it might be time to send someone to look for her?”

“Barty keeps saying that, but we really can’t spare anyone at the moment. Oh--talk of the Devil! Barty!”

Harry knew Barty Crouch only by name. He was a pure-blooded wizard, and had at one point been poised to become Minister of Magic. Then his son turned out to be working for Voldemort and he lost all standing in the Ministry. It didn’t matter that he’d sent his son to Azkaban. His career had ended. Then his wife had died of grief and his son had died in Azkaban. That was the public story, at least. Harry knew that Barty Crouch, Jr. had escaped Azkaban, and was probably already reunited with Voldemort and killing people again, if his dreams were anything to go by.

None of that, however, seemed like the man that approached them. Barty Crouch looked to Harry like a very well-dressed Muggle in a freshly pressed gray suit and tie. His shoes were polished and his mustache was trimmed so neatly that Harry wanted to try to pull it off, just to check if it was real. 

The only odd thing was that as Mr. Crouch approached them, Padfoot growled, a deep low growl of utter distaste, that startled even Charlie. Remus scratched his ears to keep him quiet.

“Pull up a bit of grass, Barty!” Ludo Bagman said.

“No, thank you, Ludo.” He sounded calm, polite, but there was the faintest bit of weary urgency in his voice. It reminded Harry of the way Lily talked to James at the end of a long week. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box.”

“Oh, is that what they’re after? I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent.”

Percy jumped to his feet. “Would you like a cup of tea, Mr. Crouch?”

Mr. Crouch looked surprised, like he hadn’t seen Percy until just then. He seemed about to accept the polite offer, but then James cleared his throat. Mr. Crouch seemed to see him for the first time, too.

“No, thank you, Weatherby--”

Fred and George nearly choked on their tea.

“--we really must be going to meet the Bulgarians.”

“Oh, alright,” Bagman got to his feet. “See you all later! You’ll be up in the Top Box with me! I’m commentating!” 

“I’m afraid we’ll be just below you,” James said. “Harry and his friends’ tickets aren’t Top Box--”

“I’ll sign them off right now. Give me a quill,” and Ludo Bagman held his hands out for the tickets and a quill.

James reluctantly reached into the pocket on his shirt and handed Ludo Bagman their tickets. Mr. Weasley handed him a quill.

Remus leaned over to James and said, “I don’t know if sitting with the Minister and Barty Crouch is a good idea.”

James took the tickets from Ludo Bagman. “It’ll be fine.” Though he didn’t sound very sure.

And with a sharp crack, Bagman and Crouch Disapparated.

“Everything alright between you two?” Bill asked, head swiveling between James and the spot Mr. Crouch had vacated. 

George’s eyes drifted to Padfoot, who had stopped growling the minute Mr. Crouch had turned down the offer of tea.

“Mr. Crouch and I have…” James paused, looking for the right words. He finally settled on, “... an unresolved disagreement.”

Percy looked appalled. “How could you disagree with Mr. Crouch about anything?”

“Oh, shut up, Weatherby,” Fred said. “I bet Mr. Crouch and Mr. Potter got into a fight about the best way to style their hair.”

James laughed and ran a hand through his messy hair, a stark contrast with Mr. Crouch’s perfectly neat part, but he didn’t offer a counter explanation.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Ministry control got more and more impossible. Soon salesmen were Apparating around the campsite, selling merchandise in colors for each team--red for Bulgaria and green for Ireland. Harry, Ron, and Hermione each got a hat sporting green shamrocks for Ireland, but Ron couldn’t quite resist getting a miniature-sized Viktor Krum that walked around on his hand, scowling up at everyone and everything. Harry thought it a perfect likeness.

Hermione purchased a set of programs just as a huge gong rang out across the moor. Red and green fires blazed in the woods, lighting a path to the Quidditch Stadium.

“It’s time!” Mr. Weasley said. “Come on, let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, critiques, questions, and headcanons are all always welcome and appreciated!


	8. The Quidditch World Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and co. watch the 1994 Quidditch World Cup, Ireland vs Bulgaria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my wonderful beta, ageofzero, who is always thinking way farther ahead then I am and keeps me prepared.

There was a rush of excitement as people started putting out their fires and running towards the woods. Harry bounced eagerly while James poured water from his wand over the fire and Mr. Weasley counted his children to be sure they were all present.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Harry said, tugging on his dad’s hand. Padfoot barked excitedly.

“Hold on,” James said. “Remus and I have to go back to the tent first and… pick something up.”

“Harry can come along with us,” Mr. Weasley said. “We’ll see you up there!”

Harry was buzzing with excitement, but he managed to ask, “Are you sure you don’t need help, Dad?”

James smiled. “I’ve got Padfoot. Go on. We’ll be there shortly.” He made sure to give Harry his ticket, then headed up the field with Remus and Padfoot towards their tent.

Harry ran to catch up with Hermione and Ron. They followed the path through the woods lit by gold braziers, glittering with scarlet flames for Bulgaria and emerald for Ireland. Even Hermione, who normally only enjoyed Quidditch when Gryffindor was playing, could barely contain her excitement as she browsed the program.

“There’s going to be a display from the team mascots,” she said. “That sounds interesting!”

“That’s always fun,” Harry said. “The Scottish had a dragon as their mascot last time. Nearly lit the stadium on fire before the MacFustys got it back under control.”

“I bet Hagrid would’ve liked that,” said Ron.

“They had a Herbridean?” Charlie asked, suddenly appearing beside Harry as if he had Apparated, but there had been no accompanying crack.

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry said. “Do you know them?”

Charlie shook his head. “They’re native to Scotland. My mates got to visit them, the ones that helped out you and Hagrid out a couple years ago, but I haven’t been able to go.” He looked wistful, the way Harry felt about sometimes upcoming Quidditch games.

“You’ll get to,” Hermione said encouragingly.

Charlie seemed thoughtful. “Yeah, maybe, but I don’t think the MacFustys are participating--” he stopped suddenly. 

“The MacFustys aren’t participating in what?” Ron asked.

“Nevermind. I’m excited to see Viktor Krum play! Been awhile since I’ve been on a broom. Harry, we’ll have to have a match sometime. Oliver Wood says you’re better than me.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. The Firebolt helps.”

Charlie laughed. “I bet it would. I don’t suppose I could have a go on it, you know, when we get back?”

“Sure. Ron’s not too bad on it either,” Harry said, and Ron went pink at the compliment.

They reached the Quidditch Stadium and Ron and Hermione gasped in awe. It was slightly smaller than the one Harry had seen at the last Quidditch Cup, or maybe it was just that Harry had been smaller. Either way, it did not diminish the impressiveness of it. The walls were gilded, and higher than some of the largest trees Harry had ever seen. It was at least ten times as large as the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch.

Mr. Weasley handed their tickets to the witch at the gate.

“Prime seats!” she said. “Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, as high as you can go! Ah, Harry Potter! Pleasure to meet you… let’s see… oh, that Ludo Bagman… well, alright, go on. Just stay with Mr. Weasley.”

The stairs went on forever. Harry found himself wishing he could Apparate to the top. He’d walked enough today to last him the rest of the month.

“It must seat over a hundred thousand,” Hermione panted as they climbed. “It’s a wonder a Muggle didn’t stumble across it.”

“Muggle Repelling Charms all over it,” explained Mr. Weasley. “If a Muggle gets too close, they suddenly remember they’ve got very important appointments.”

When they reached the Top Box, another wizard took their tickets and let them inside. The Box was, true to its name, at the very top of the Stadium, in the center of the field, evenly situated between the Bulgarian and Irish goal posts. They could see everything on the field below. There were about thirty seats in the box, purple and gold. No one else was there, so Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley children slid right into the front ten seats. Mr. Weasley sat right behind them and saved two seats for James and Remus.

“Are they going to let Padfoot up here?” Hermione whispered to Harry.

Harry hadn’t thought of that. It did seem unlikely that the Ministry would let a large dog up into these nice seats, but his father usually got what he wanted, Ministry rules or no. Today had been pretty strong evidence of that.

Harry pulled his Omnioculars from the last Quidditch World Cup out of his pocket and handed them to Ron. “Check it out--they have replays and slow motion and everything.”

Ron pressed the glasses against his face and scanned the large crowd. “Wow! I can watch that guy pick his nose again and again and again….”

Hermione snorted and resumed browsing her program. 

The seats in the Top Box filled slowly. Important Ministry officials came in and out so often that Percy Weasley barely had time to sit down, he was so intent on shaking hands. Harry recognized a few of them--Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office; Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who greeted Harry warmly when she saw him; and then there was the Minister of Magic himself.

Cornelius Fudge came in with the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, dressed in black and gold robes. Percy Weasley stood abruptly and bowed so deeply his glasses slid right off his nose and shattered on the floor. Fred and George laughed while Percy, red as the Bulgarian flag, fixed his glasses.

“Harry,” Fudge said with a wide, pleasant smile. “Where are your parents?”

“Dad’s coming,” Harry said.

“This is the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, Oblansk. This is Harry Potter,” he said, very loudly to the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. “ _Harry Potter_... oh come on now, you know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who… you _do_ know who he is.”

The Bulgarian Minister pointed at Harry’s scar and started speaking excitedly in a language Harry assumed was Bulgarian. He resisted the urge to adjust his bangs and cover his scar.

“Knew we’d get there in the end,” said Fudge wearily. “I’m not great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, and here’s Lucius!”

Harry had met Lucius Malfoy a couple of times before. Most notably was the time in Flourish and Blotts, when Mr. Weasley and Sirius had punched Malfoy in the face for making a comment about Muggles and Muggle-born wizards being “less” than pure-blooded wizards. There was also the time that Lucius Malfoy tried to curse Harry when Harry had freed his house-elf, Dobby. It was safe to say none of Harry’s party were overly fond of Lucius Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy was there as well, the spitting image of his father, and a woman that Harry had not seen before walked alongside Draco. She had blonde hair, like her son and husband, and was tall and slim, with cheekbones so high that Harry knew instantly she was a Black by blood. This had to be Sirius’s cousin Narcissa. Harry might have found her beautiful, in the way that Sirius and Regulus both looked devilish, but her sneer ruined it, and made her face look like she’d just stepped in hippogriff dung.

“Ah, Fudge,” said Mr. Malfoy as he shook hands with the Minister. “How are you? I don’t think you’ve met my wife Narcissa? Or my son Draco?”

The Minister of Magic shook Draco’s hand and politely grasped Narcissa’s with a very slight sort of bow, like a remnant of an older court life. “How do you do? This is the Bulgarian Minister of Magic and--Ah! James Potter, so good to see you--Oh, and what’s this with you?”

James and Remus came up the steps and for a moment, Harry thought the Minister was talking about Remus. Then he saw Padfoot trotting along behind them. Apparently his father had been able to talk his way into letting a dog into the Top Box.

“Minister,” James said, and shook the Minister’s hand. He immediately reached out for the Bulgarian Minister’s hand. “You must be the Bulgarian Minister; it’s a pleasure. Oh, hello, Lucius. Always pleasant to see you. Thanks for saving us seats, Arthur.”

Lucius’s smile as James shook his hand twisted into a faint sneer. “Ah, so this is how you were able to afford such prime seats, is it, Arthur?”

“Not at all,” James cut in, before Mr. Weasley could answer or Padfoot could growl menacingly. “Ludo Bagman invited us here himself.”

Fudge only seemed to catch the end of the conversation and said, “We’re very glad to have you up here, James. Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.”

“How nice,” James said brightly. “You know my grandfather used to be on the board for St. Mungo’s? I’ll have to put in a word and make sure they upgrade the Creature-Induced Injuries Ward. I had a few complaints last time I visited.”

“What an excellent idea,” Lucius Malfoy said, but he didn’t sound at all like he meant it as his eyes drifted over to Remus, who was actively engaging Mr. Weasley in a completely separate conversation, like he was avoiding the Minister and the Malfoys all together. Then Malfoy looked at Hermione with the same look of distaste. She turned a little pink, but stared straight back at him.

Harry felt like someone had lit a fire inside him, to think that Malfoy could completely ignore that his father had brought a dog into the Top Box, as if that wasn’t a problem, but look at Remus and Hermione like they ought to be thrown out. He might’ve said something, at least made a sharp retort for Sirius’s sake, since Sirius could not, but Ludo Bagman came bounding into the box, Barty Crouch not far behind him.

“Everyone ready?” he said, looking around at the faces in the Top Box eagerly. “Minister? Ready to go?”

“Whenever you are,” Fudge said, and took a seat behind the Malfoys.

Ludo Bagman took his wand and pressed it to the tip of his throat. “ _Sonorus_!” he said, and his next words came out ten times louder, booming across the entire stadium, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup.”

Harry, his family, his friends, and a hundred thousand spectators cheered. Padfoot ran right up to the barrier between them and the match and put his paws on top of the railing, barking excitedly. The scoreboard flashed Bulgaria: 0 and Ireland: 0.

“And now,” Bagman continued, “without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!”

The red half of the stadium moved as one, standing and cheering as the Bulgarian mascots entered the stadium. Harry looked down at the figures on the field. They looked like slender, blonde women at first, but Harry squinted and realized that they couldn’t be. Their hair wasn’t blonde, it was white-gold, and their skin wasn’t pale it literally shone like moonlight. He’d never seen anything like it, and he thought he never wanted to see anything else again.

Then he heard his dad behind him--“Veela. _Veela_. Remus, hold me before Lily Apparates and murders me.”

Harry watched the veela begin to dance, and he promptly forgot all about Quidditch. He only thought that their dancing was absolutely impressive, and he wanted to do something that would impress them in return. Jumping out of the stands seemed like it might do the trick.

But when he started to move forward, something grabbed his collar. He looked behind him and saw Remus holding him back with a small smile on his face, and holding James’s glasses in his other hand.

“Careful, Harry,” Remus said.

Harry glanced at the rest of the people in the box. He noticed that Percy was anxiously slicking his hair back. Bill was busy polishing the gold studs on his leather jacket. Fred and George were wrestling in their seats, and Ron looked like he was about to take a dive off of a spring board. The only one who seemed unaffected was Charlie, who was fiddling with his green rosette almost impatiently.

The veela left and a huge number of both Bulgarian and Irish supporters booed loudly, calling for the veela to come back. Harry wanted to do the same, but he also wanted to see the Quidditch match. He was quite prepared to root for Bulgarianow. Even Ron started tearing the shamrocks off of his hat until his dad gently took it and said, “Let the Irish have their say first.”

“And now,” Bagman said, voice carrying across the stadium, “kindly put your wands in the air for the Irish National Team Mascots!”

Charlie and Ginny were the only Weasleys who got up and started cheering as a green and gold light shot through the stadium, like a glowing Snitch. It split into two and formed a rainbow over the field, then the rainbow became a shamrock that spit gold. Not just gold light, actual gold coins. 

Harry polished his glasses and squinted up at the glittering shamrock. He could just barely make out the shapes of the tiny green and gold men that made up the formation.

“Leprechauns,” Remus said. “Fascinating.”

“Shame the gold doesn’t last,” James sighed, and Ron dejectedly dropped the handful he’d scooped up off the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco Malfoy do the same.

The shamrock faded and the leprechauns settled on the side of the field opposite from the veela. Ludo Bagman’s voice rang out and announced the Bulgarian players. As their names were called, each zipped into the stadium, blurs of scarlet.

“Dimitrov!” Ludo shouted. “Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! And… Krum!”

Irish and Bulgarian supporters alike cheered loudly as Viktor Krum entered the stadium. Ron got to his feet and shouted. Harry took the opportunity to swipe his Omnioculars from Ron’s seat and get a closer look.

Krum was as surly as his poster, with his hawk-like nose and heavy eyebrows. He was incredibly thin and he moved across the pitch like a predatory bird, waiting to strike. Harry couldn’t imagine they were separated by only a few years in age.

“And now--please greet the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting--Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! And… Lynch!”

They were emerald streaks along the stands of the Quidditch stadium, circling the Bulgarian players. Harry handed the Omnioculars back to Ron so he could get a better look.

Bagman introduced the referee next, and he kicked open the crate containing the balls. Harry caught a brief glimpse of the Golden Snitch before it zipped off, disappearing in the glittering lights.

The game began immediately. It was far more fast-paced than any game Harry had played at Hogwarts. The players were all blurs, and the Quaffle passed so quickly between them that Ludo Bagman could only announce their names as they took the ball.

“Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!”

Though Harry could barely keep up, it was clear that the Irish were a very skilled set of Chasers. They operated so smoothly, it was like they were communicating mentally. Harry was in awe, and wondered if there was any way to get Katie, Angelina, and Alicia to play like that.

Then James leaned forward and tapped his shoulder. “That’s the Hawkshead! I tried that so many times when I played--”

The Irish Chasers had swopped together, Troy slightly ahead of Mullet and Moran. Troy shot upwards with the Quaffle, but dropped it to Moran while the Bulgarians went after him. Moran had to dodge a Bludger and dropped the Quaffle. It was intercepted by a red blur--“Levski!” announced Bagman--but when he tried to pass it off to Ivanova, Troy took it back.

“They’re incredible,” Ron said.

Then Troy scored and the green half of the stands erupted into wild cheering. Even Hermione got to her feet and started clapping. The leprechauns cheered too, and shot out another shower of gold, but no one in the Top Box tried to grab any.

The Irish Chasers managed to score twice more in a matter of minutes, making the score 30-0. The leprechauns and the left half of the stadium went wild. The Bulgarian Beaters tried to up their game. They whacked Bludgers more furiously than before, causing the Irish Chasers to scatter. Their formations did them little good now.

Ivanova managed to score ten points for Bulgaria and the veela danced in celebration. Harry focused on the Irish players as Mullet swooped down to catch the Quaffle, since he had no desire to let the veela distract him from the game. Dimitrov snatched the Quaffle before Mullet could pass to Troy. While Ireland desperately tried to regain control of the Quaffle, Krum and Lynch suddenly dove down through the center of the stadium. The entire crowd gasped, and Harry leaned forward eagerly, searching for the Snitch.

“They’re going to crash!” Hermione said.

But at the very last second, Krum pulled out of the dive and veered off towards the Irish goal posts. Lynch, however, was not so lucky, and slammed straight into the dirt.

“Idiot,” James grunted as the Irish supporters groaned.

“He was feinting,” Charlie said.

“Will Lynch be alright?” Hermione asked.

Mediwizards were already arriving on the field to tend to Lynch. Harry asked Ron for his Omnioculars back and rewatched the play. The replay was headed with, “Wronski Defensive Feint” as Harry watched Krum lead Lynch on the dangerous dive. The Snitch really hadn’t been anywhere in sight.

Cedric Diggory had tried a similar move against Harry last February, but it hadn’t been nearly so intense. At least, Harry hadn’t been ploughed into the ground like Lynch had. He felt the strong urge to try it and wondered if he could get Ron or Charlie to practice it with him.

The game only got more intense. The Irish were angry about Lynch being ploughed and the Bulgarians were frustrated with the score. Bludgers flew across the field, forcing Quaffles to be dropped and intercepted so quickly, it felt like no team could pass more than once.

Harry focused on the Seekers, turning the Omnioculars back to Viktor Krum. He seemed less like he was flying on a broom and more like he was floating weightlessly. He barely moved and he had no tension from his grip on the broom. He looked like he’d been born in the air. Harry felt like he could only dream of having that skill.

Harry was forced to turn his attention back to the game when the referee started calling fouls for elbowing, or, as it was known as in Quidditch, cobbing. This angered not only the players, but the mascots as well. The veela and the leprechauns actually started fighting and the referee tried to throw them out. The veela even lost some of their beautiful appearance--their faces turned birdlike, and wings sprouted from their backs as they threw blue flames at the leprechauns, who, contrary to the veela’s anger, were laughing as they teased and taunted the veela.

The referee called two penalties for Ireland when the Bulgarian Beaters tried to argue with the referee for trying to remove the veela. However, without the Bulgarian Beaters in the air to defend their team, the Bludgers were under entirely Irish control. One hit Viktor Krum square in the face.

In the chaos between the mascots and the fouls, no one seemed to notice his crooked and bloody nose. Harry waited for the referee to stop the game so the Mediwizards could help him, but the referee’s broom was on fire from a veela. He had no idea what had had happened to Krum.

“Come on, he can’t play like that!” Ron said. “This isn’t fair.”

“Lynch!” Harry said suddenly, for Lynch went straight into a dive, and Harry knew this wasn’t a feint--he could see the Snitch glittering just above the field in the center. Then Krum was right behind him. Harry didn’t know how Krum could see with the blood in his eyes, but he caught up with Lynch easily. There wasn’t enough altitude, though, for him to get ahead.

“They’re going to crash again!” Hermione said.

“No,” Ron said, on his feet, eagerly waiting for one of them to pull out of the dive with the Snitch.

For the second time, Lynch ploughed straight into the ground, tumbling along the grass until he skidded to a stop just feet away from the edge of the stadium.

“Where’s the Snitch?” Charlie asked.

“Krum’s got it!” Harry shouted. “It’s over--Krum’s caught the Snitch!”

Krum had the Snitch clutched tightly in his fist, raised over his head, and he rose up to the center of the stadium. The scoreboard flashed Bulgaria: 160, Ireland: 170.

“Ireland wins!” shouted Bagman, and the stadium erupted into a loud cheer. “Krum gets the Snitch--but Ireland wins--good lord, I don’t think any of us were expecting that!”

Ron was cheering, but he asked, “What did he catch the Snitch for? He ended it when Ireland was a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!”

“He knew they couldn’t catch up,” Harry said, grinning from ear to ear. He’d never seen such an impressive game. “The Irish Chasers were too good. He wanted to end it on his terms, that’s all!”

“He was very brave, wasn’t he?” said Hermione. She leaned over the balcony to get a closer look at Krum, who was waving away the mediwizards trying to mend his nose.

Leprechauns zipped around the field in gold and green bursts, showering the stands in gold. The Irish players were on the ground now, holding each other and cheering loudly. The Ireland anthem played throughout the stadium.

“Vell, ve fought bravely,” the Bulgarian Minister said sadly.

Fudge looked startled. “You can speak English! And you’ve been letting me mime everything all day.”

“Vell, it vos very funny.”

The Top Box was suddenly brightly lit, and Harry made sure his scar was covered as the screen displayed the Ministers of Magic and Ludo Bagman.

“Let’s have a really loud hand for the gallant losers--Bulgaria,” Ludo announced.

The crowd cheered respectfully, shouting Krum’s name loudly. Each of the Bulgarian players entered the box and waved dismally at the audience. Ron seemed to grow very still as Viktor Krum entered, though Harry found him far less impressive on the ground than in the air. His walk seemed uncoordinated and and he didn’t seem nearly so confident on his feet, even with the stands chanting his name.

Then Ludo Bagman announced the Irish team, and Krum’s name was replaced with a deafening roar. Troy and Quigley lifted the cup, while Lynch waved at the crowd in a bit of a daze, clearly stunned from his two collisions.

Then the Irish left for a lap of victory, and Ludo Bagman pointed his wand at his throat one more time. “ _Quietus_ ,” he said, and in a much hoarser voice: “They’ll be talking about this one for years. A really unexpected twist, that. Shame it couldn’t have been longer.”

Fred and George quickly leaped over the backs of their chairs and and held their hands out in front of Ludo Bagman.

“Ah, yes,” he said, swallowing hard, “I owe you… how much?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, headcanons, questions, criticisms, etc always appreciated <3


	9. The Dark Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos at the Quidditch World Cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta, ageofzero, and my best friend who both take panicked 3am texts of "i just started reading order of the phoenix and I'm going to die."
> 
> And I want you to know I've been sitting on this chapter for weeks, and it's been agony, and I can't wait for your reactions.

After the match, Harry went back to his tent with his family and the Weasleys, where James made sure that everyone had a cup of hot cocoa and Padfoot had a thick frozen steak to gnaw on. Fred and George gleefully counted their winnings, while Charlie, Mr. Weasley, and James got into an argument about cobbing, and Harry thought about how much he wanted to try the Wronski Feint. Krum had made it look so graceful. Harry wanted to practice it as soon as he got home.

They talked and laughed for hours until Ginny fell asleep in her cocoa and spilled it all over the floor, so Mr. Weasley insisted that they all go to bed. Harry said goodnight to Hermione and Ron and the rest of the Weasleys.

James held the flap open for Mr. Weasley and the sounds of loud singing and cheering could be heard outside.

“Glad you’re not on duty, eh, Arthur?” James asked with a small laugh.

“I certainly wouldn’t want to be the one to tell the Irish to stop celebrating,” Mr. Weasley agreed.

“See you in the morning, then,” James said, and the Weasleys were off.

The moment they were gone, Padfoot became Sirius again, still lying on the floor, stretching his limbs like he’d just woken up from a long nap.

“Merlin, I haven’t spent so long as a dog in ages,” he groaned. “I don’t remember it making me so stiff.”

“That may just be tension from sitting in a box with the Malfoys and Mr. Crouch for the last few hours,” Remus said with a faint smile.

Sirius snarled at the names, something that sounded very much like a Padfoot type of noise, not so much a Sirius Black curse.

“Don’t stay you for too long,” James said as he cleared the mugs away from the table. “The last thing we need is anyone from the Ministry popping in to say hello, or the Malfoys sending a complaint about an obnoxious black dog, and finding you instead.”

Sirius made a face at James, but didn’t argue.

“Did you guys do this a lot when you were in school?” Harry asked as he changed into his pajamas.

“Do what?” Sirius asked from the floor. “Me running around as James’s dog? A fair bit. Not as much as we schemed about it though.”

“Planning a jape is half the fun of it,” James called from the kitchen.

“And talking your way out of trouble is the other half?” Remus said, a small smile on his lips.

Neither James nor Sirius looked scolded by the comment.

Suddenly, Sirius started laughing so hard he was crying. He managed to get out, “When you were talking to Lucius,” Sirius said between giggles, “and you said you wanted to improve the Creature-Induced Injuries Ward,” Sirius paused for another laugh, “his face was the greatest thing I’ve seen all year.” Sirius let his laughter fizzle out into a heavy breathing. “Definitely made having to sit with Crouch worth it. Though I wouldn’t have minded taking a bite out of his heel.”

“I’m certainly glad you didn’t,” Remus said. “I think one trip to the Wizengamot per year is enough for all of us.”

Sirius snorted. “They couldn’t catch me if I sank my teeth into their cloaks and pulled. Though, Merlin, I kept thinking about how nice it would be to leave a present on Cissy’s shoes--give her something to really sneer about.”

“Alright, alright,” James said, “let’s not tempt fate. Into bed. We can take a late start tomorrow.”

Sirius turned back into Padfoot mid-yawn, then waited for Remus to climb into bed before jumping on and curling up at the foot of it. Harry went to his room while James snuffed out the light.

Harry was, on one hand, exhausted from such a long day, but on the other, too excited to fall asleep. His father’s and Charlie’s compliments replayed in his head--could he be as good as Viktor Krum someday? He imagined what it would be like to play in a professional Quidditch match, to fly around a stadium with everyone cheering his name. Sure, he was famous now, for something he did as an infant, but to be famous for Quidditch, for a skill he knew he had, that would be something incredible.

Harry wasn’t sure if his imagination ever quite turned to dreams. It really felt like only minutes before the light was back on and his dad was shaking him wake.

“Out of bed, Harry, no time. Remus, up, let’s go.”

Harry tumbled out of bed and reached for his jeans.

“Leave them,” James said, and pulled Padfoot off the bed. “Get moving you big beast.”

“Dad, what’s going on?”

His dad shoved a jacket into his hands and they hurried outside. It was still dark out, but the Irish celebrations had gone silent, and there were only a few campfires lit. Instead of celebrating, the campsite was filled with the sounds of explosions and drunken laughter. Somewhere, there were bright lights shooting upwards, almost like fireworks, and they were coming closer. Harry couldn’t quite make out what they were, but the crowds were running from them, towards the forest. Some tents were burning and a few were quickly collapsing, but Harry couldn’t see why.

Then there was a bright green light, and Harry saw a mob of wizards, wearing cloaks and masks, wands pointed upwards. Above their heads were four figures--two adults and two children. Harry’s heart stuck in his throat when he recognized who they were.

The camp manager Mr. Roberts, and presumably his wife and two children, were suspended in the air above the wizards. One of the children was spinning like a top. Someone turned Mrs. Roberts over and she struggled to keep her nightdress from flopping over too.

“Dad, what’s--”

“No time,” James said, and pulled his wand out. “I’m going to help the Ministry.”

Remus had his wand out. “I’m going too--”

“You’re not.” James pushed a hand against Remus’s chest. “Go into the woods. Watch Harry. Harry, look out for Remus. Padfoot, stay close to them both.”

Padfoot barked and tugged at Remus’s cloak with his teeth, but Remus didn’t budge. There was a brief moment where Harry thought that Remus would fight his dad over this. It was a waxing moon, and who knew how far the knowledge of Remus’s condition had spread in the wizarding community. In the end, Remus turned without further protest, and together the three of them ran, leaving James behind.

They paused at the Weasleys’ tents, and they found all of them had already gone, so they continued into the woods. It was dark away from the light of campfires. There were no golden braziers to light their way, only the sounds of people running and the feeling of roots beneath his feet to let Harry know they were still in the forest.

“ _Lumos_ ,” Remus said, and his wand lit the way for them.

Padfoot didn’t struggle with the dim terrain as much as Harry and Remus did. By the faint wand light they managed to get to a clearing not far from the campsite. A few other wizards running along had their wands lit as well, but many looked like children. Harry wondered where their parents were. Were they in the mob or trying to stop it?

The light suddenly grew dimmer and Padfoot barked sharply. Harry turned around and saw that Remus had paused to lean against a tree. The light from his wand seemed to fade in and out.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked. He glanced over Remus’s shoulder nervously, wondering how far they were from the mob.

Remus nodded. “Just… a bit sore.”

“Harry!” someone shouted loudly, and Harry looked around, wand out. Then he saw Hermione and Ron running towards him. Hermione threw her arms around him.

“We were worried about you,” Ron said.

“We looked for you, too,” Harry said. “Where are the others?”

“Percy, Bill, and Charlie went to help Dad. We lost Ginny, Fred, and George.”

Hermione had her wand lit, and Harry remembered he didn’t have to worry about the Trace in this crowd, just as he hadn’t had to that morning. He lit his as well and held it up so he could get a better look at Remus.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Hermione asked him.

Remus shook his head. “You three should keep moving.”

Padfoot barked in protest.

“He’s right,” said Ron. “We won’t leave you.”

Then someone said, “Well, you’d better not stand there,” in a drawl so calm and so out of place in the panic of what was happening around them.

It was Draco Malfoy, leaning against a tree, like he’d been watching the scene at the campground through a gap in the woods. Padfoot growled menacingly, and Ron’s swear was barely audible over it.

Malfoy did not look intimidated by either of them, and his comfort made Harry’s skin crawl.

“I’m trying to be helpful,” Malfoy said. “You don’t want either of them spotted, do you?” He nodded in the direction of Remus and Hermione. “Or it’ll be her knickers in the air, and Merlin knows what they’d do to someone like you.” He looked directly at Remus.

Harry grabbed Padfoot’s tail to hold him back. His heels dug into the dirt and he was barely able to restrain the large dog.

“You shut your mouth,” Ron said, and brandished his wand like he might attack Malfoy too, but Remus put a hand on Ron’s shoulder.

“He isn’t wrong,” Remus said quietly. “We should keep moving.”

Harry resisted the urge to hex Malfoy. Him, Ron, and Hermione against one Draco Malfoy sounded like very good odds, but not at a time where Remus was sick, not when his father had told him to look out for Remus, not when he had to worry about Padfoot accidentally exposing himself.

The five of them continued running. Harry wasn’t quite as tall as Remus, but he was tall enough to help support him as they moved through the trees by his and Hermione’s light. They passed some students speaking to each other hurriedly in French, and some goblins counting some gold, probably won off betting on the Cup. There was no sign of Ginny, Fred, or George.

They paused in a clearing to let Remus catch his breath again, while Padfoot circled the group, nose sniffing the air.

“Bet he’s smug because his dad is right in the thick of it,” Ron muttered. “Bloody bastard.”

“If Malfoy’s father is one of the masked ones,” Harry said, “maybe our parents will catch him.”

“That’d wipe the smirk right off his face,” Ron agreed. “I’d love to see that.”

Hermione still looked visibly shaken, and kept looking back over her shoulder, but the screams and explosions were distant now. Harry took her arm and squeezed it gently, not sure how to help her. He couldn’t imagine how terrified she had to be right now.

“They can’t tell,” Remus said.

Hermione sniffed and wiped her cheeks, though Harry wasn’t sure she’d been crying.

“I know,” she said.

“I mean it. You’re a witch, as much as anyone else.”

“I know,” she repeated, but Harry felt like she’d relaxed a little.

Remus was always good at that--saying exactly what people needed to hear. It was a sort of magic Harry wished he possessed, but he never felt like he knew what people needed or what to say in this sort of situation.

Then, suddenly, Harry heard a woman scream. It wasn’t from the campsite. It was only a few yards away. Padfoot barked sharply and ran towards the sound. Remus ran after him.

“Wait!” Harry called.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione tried to follow, but it was hard to find where they’d gone in the dark. Their only clues were the sound of Padfoot barking, which was joined by the sound of a scuffle.

Then Harry tripped over a tree root, but Hermione gasped sharply, and he looked down. It wasn’t a tree root at all. It was a body--the woman from his dream.

Harry scrambled to his feet, and he felt Ron grab him and pull him away. Remus and Padfoot were temporarily forgotten as Harry stared down at the body of the woman he’d seen murdered in his nightmare. He knew he was shaking, and he felt cold suddenly, like a dementor had descended on them. He found himself repeating the incantation for a Patronus Charm, in an effort to stay the terror that was starting to clamp down inside him. If this woman was here, was Voldemort nearby?

Then there was a bark and a voice shouted, “ _Morsmordre_!” startling Harry out of his panic.

A bright green light shot upward, and Harry saw the light turn into several green stars that took on a terrifying shape--a skull with a snake sticking out of its mouth like a grotesque tongue.

“Voldemort,” Harry whispered.

Then there was a sharp crack, loud enough to split Harry’s ears. Harry barely had time to think before Ron was shoving him into the ground and a collection of voices yelled, “ _Stupefy_!” The woods were bathed in red light as the charm passed over their heads, ricocheting off tree trunks and branches.

“Stop! Stop--that’s my son!” James Potter pushed his way through the crowd of wizards surrounding them. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet. “Are you alright?”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Mr. Weasley was suddenly there too, helping Ron and Hermione stand.

A Ministry witch knelt next to the body Harry had tripped over. “Oh--someone find Ludo,” she said.

“What is it?” James asked, pulling Harry another step away from the body.

“It’s Bertha Jorkins. She’s broken her neck.”

The group seemed to still at the name, and every adult looked up at the Dark Mark hovering above them. Harry knew they were all wondering the same thing.

“Is he really here?” he asked, voice shaking.

James swallowed before answering. “No, I don’t think--”

Then someone pulled James away from Harry and there was a wand in his face. Mr. Crouch glared down at them, his eyes darting swiftly between Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Which of you did it? Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?”

James pushed Mr. Crouch away from them. “Don’t you dare accuse my son of this! He’s fourteen--he couldn’t possibly--”

“They’ve been discovered at the scene of the crime!”

“That doesn’t mean they did it. You’ve always been quick to accuse and slow to listen.”

Harry hadn’t seen his dad argue so directly with an official before. James was good at talking his way out of trouble, at laughing off criticism, but this was a direct disrespect of authority, and Harry wondered what the disagreement between James and Mr. Crouch could possibly have been to make his dad behave this way.

“They’re just kids, Barty,” a witch in the crowd said. In a voice far kinder than Mr. Crouch’s she asked, “Can you three tell us where the Mark came from?”

Hermione pointed into the trees, in the direction Padfoot and Remus had run off. 

“They’ve probably Disapparated by now,” a Ministry official suggested.

“Possible our Stunners hit them,” someone else said, and Harry realized Mr. Diggory was among the group. He wondered vaguely if Cedric was alright.

The group of wizards headed in the direction Hermione pointed. James, Harry, and his friends followed. 

By the light of half a dozen wands, they came across Remus Lupin, unmoving, sprawled on the forest floor, and a large black dog standing over him, snarling at anyone who dared to approach.

“Looks like we have someone,” Mr. Diggory said, and rolled up his sleeves as if he was preparing to fight the dog off.

“Amos, don’t--” James pushed his way to the front. “This isn’t right. Remus would never--”

“Slow to listen, am I?” Crouch said. “Perhaps we should hear what Remus Lupin has to say for himself.”

“Potter, if you don’t remove that dog, I’ll have to do it for you,” Mr. Diggory said.

James sighed heavily. “Padfoot, come here.”

But Padfoot snarled at Crouch and refused to move.

“Padfoot, it’s alright. You know I won’t let anything happen to Remus, right?”

Padfoot growled one more time, a warning rather than a threat, and he trotted to James’s side.

Mr. Diggory pressed his wand to Remus’s chest and opened his mouth for a spell, but a wizard in the crowd said, “Wait!”

They all paused for a man in a flower-print shirt, improperly buttoned, who said, “Is it safe? I mean… If that’s Remus Lupin, you all heard--”

“Of course it’s bloody safe!” James snarled, in a very close imitation of Sirius. “He’s no more dangerous than I am--maybe less dangerous than I am if you keep spitting--”

“Dad,” Harry said, and pulled on his father’s arm.

There was a pause of complete silence, where no one dared move. Harry was afraid his dad might start hexing all of them, and he knew that would only make the situation worse. He wished his mother were here to rein James in.

Mr. Diggory said, “ _Enneverate_ ,” and Remus Lupin took in a sharp gasp of air. About eight of the witches and wizards standing around him took a step back. Harry felt his father’s arm tense underneath his hands.

“Lupin,” Mr. Diggory said sharply, “do you know who I am?”

Remus did not try to sit up. Harry wondered if he could.

“Diggory, isn’t it?” Remus said slowly. “Cedric’s father?”

“And a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

Padfoot barked, and James put a warning hand on his head. But Harry saw James’s other hand tighten around his wand.

“The Dark Mark was conjured here, just moments ago, and a woman murdered,” Mr. Diggory continued, “and you were discovered here just moments later. Explain yourself.”

Harry saw nothing of the sly Remus Lupin who had so easily handled Snape’s accusations when the Marauder’s Map had nearly been discovered. He did not see the offended but cautious Remus Lupin who had tried to reason calmly with Snape in the Shrieking Shack. Instead, he looked more like the Remus Lupin who had stood uncomfortably in Ollivander’s shop, looking like he had been caught somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. Though Harry didn’t doubt Remus’s innocence for a minute, he couldn’t help but think that Remus looked incredibly guilty. 

“I was with Harry, Ron, and Hermione when we heard someone scream,” Remus started. He still made no move to sit up--no movement at all. “The dog ran towards the sound, so I followed. I didn’t see who screamed, but I found the dog attacking someone, so I tried to separate them--”

“Did you see who it was?” Diggory interrupted.

“No. It was dark.”

“Do you know where they went?”

“I assume they Disapparated. I was just about to look for Harry when I was hit with a Stunning Charm.”

“You assert that you did not cast the Dark Mark? That this mystery person did?”

“If you’d let him finish his story--” James said.

“It’s alright,” Remus said. “Yes, this mystery person conjured the Dark Mark. I did not.”

Mr. Diggory took Remus’s wand from his hand. Padfoot barked and tried to jump at Mr. Diggory. James, too, took a step forward. It was Ron and Hermione who had to tackle Padfoot to the ground while Harry held his dad back.

“James, it’s fine,” said Remus.

“This is your wand?” Mr. Diggory asked.

“He’s allowed a wand,” James said through gritted teeth.

Mr. Crouch made a disagreeing noise that made Harry feel nauseated on Remus’s behalf.

“During the fight I dropped my wand, and had only just picked it up before I was stunned,” Remus said quietly. “May I examine that wand to be sure it is mine and not the other person’s?”

Harry thought that if they had let Remus finish his story, they would’ve already known this.

James pulled himself away from Harry and knelt at Remus’s side. Mr. Crouch raised his wand as if preparing to hex James, but James only helped Remus sit up and held a light for him to see better. Harry wished it were any week other than this week, that the moon was not in its waxing gibbous phase, and Remus was feeling like his proper self.

Mr. Diggory held the wand in front of Remus, who made no attempt to hold and examine it.

“That is the wand that I purchased in Diagon Alley three days ago,” Remus said, and Harry thought he sounded a little disappointed as he said it.

“Three days ago?”

“I lost my wand last June and have only just replaced it.”

“How did you lose your wand?”

“This is entirely irrelevant,” James said. “Are you trying to discover who cast this spell or interrogate him about every part of his life?”

Mr. Diggory frowned at James, then paired the tips of his and Remus’s wand. “ _Prior Incantato_.”

Where Mr. Diggory’s wand met Remus’s, a gray, wispy skull sprouted with a serpent tongue emerging from its mouth--a disturbing shadow of the horror above them.

There was a lot of clamoring from the crowd and Padfoot barked even louder.

Mr. Diggory said, “ _Deletrius_ ,” and pocketed Remus’s wand. He put a hand on Remus’s shoulder, but James leveled his wand at Mr. Diggory.

“Remus didn’t do this.”

“Stand down, Potter,” said Mr. Crouch. “The evidence is clear.”

“But we heard the person who cast the spell,” Harry said. “It wasn’t Uncle Remus.”

“It’s true,” Hermione said quickly, panting slightly from the effort of holding Padfoot down. “Mr. Lupin could barely cast a Wand-Lighting Charm when we found him in the forest.”

“I have had a very long day,” Remus said. “I would not be up to the task of such a dark spell.”

“But a Dark Creature--” someone said, and James pointed his wand in the direction of the voice so quickly that the wizard never finished his sentence.

“Remus didn’t do this,” James repeated. “He told you his wand was lost in the scuffle, he told you he had only just picked it up before he was stunned, and these children have told you the voice wasn’t Remus’s. Now let him go.”

But Mr. Diggory didn’t move, and Mr. Crouch kept his wand pointed at James. The only sound in the forest was Padfoot’s low growl. 

Finally, Mr. Weasley stepped forward. “James, at the least, the evidence is enough for a proper trial.”

“But--”

“I believe you and Remus, but they’re right, too. This needs an investigation.”

James’s jaw was tight, and Harry knew that his father was calculating the odds of escaping with Remus. Apparently the odds weren’t as good as he would have liked. “Fine--but I’m staying with him,” he told Mr. Crouch, and to Mr. Diggory he said, “I want his wand with Arthur until this is over.”

“It’s evidence,” said Mr. Diggory. “We can’t--”

“Then if anything happens to it,” James pressed his wand to Mr. Diggory’s chest, “any ‘accidental fracture,’ I’m coming after you personally.” If James Potter felt any concern about publicly threatening a Ministry official in front of two dozen witnesses, he didn’t show it.

Mr. Diggory pulled Remus to his feet and, with his wand, conjured a rope to bind Remus’s hands.

“This isn’t necessary,” James said.

“Neither is you coming with him.” Mr. Diggory cleared his throat. “Remus Lupin, you’re under arrest for the murder of Bertha Jorkins and casting the Dark Mark. Do you understand the charges laid against you?”

“Yes,” Remus said, with a very defeated weight hanging from his shoulders.

“And you deny them?”

“Of course he does,” James said.

“Yes,” Remus repeated in the same dull tone.

There were several cracks in the air until Harry was left standing in the clearing with Ron, Hermione, Mr. Weasley, and Padfoot. Harry was very sure he wanted to cry, but he also knew it would fix nothing.

That didn’t stop Hermione from choking on a few sobs. “There’s no reason for this,” she said. “For any of it.”

Mr. Weasley took a deep breath. “No, there isn’t. Come on, let’s get back to the camp. Hopefully everyone’s made it back safely. Stay with us, Harry.”

Harry was vaguely aware of Mr. Weasley taking his arm and of Padfoot trotting alongside him. He absentmindedly pet Padfoot as they walked, turning the last hour over and over in his head. He wanted to make sense of it. He wanted to talk it over with his parents, with Remus, with Sirius, but none of them were there. Well, Sirius was, but he wasn’t exactly able to talk.

When they reached the campsite, the destruction was obvious, but there were no signs of the mob that had caused the damage. They passed smoking tents and charred spots that may have once been tents or hastily put out campfires. Harry hoped no one was hurt.

Charlie stood outside the Weasley’s tent, looking around anxiously. “Dad! What’s going on?”

“Is everyone back?”

“Fred, George, and Ginny are okay, but--”

“I’ve got Ron, Hermione, and Harry. Mr. Potter and Mr. Lupin are alright.”

“Have you seen the dog?”

“I have him, too.”

They all went into the tent, and Harry felt even worse when he saw the rest of the Weasleys. Bill’s arm was bleeding heavily, despite the bed sheet he’d wadded up against it. Percy had a bloody nose, and Charlie’s clothes were torn. Fred, George, and Ginny, at least, looked unhurt.

“Did you get them, Dad?” Bill asked. “The person who conjured the Mark?”

“They didn’t,” Hermione said quickly.

Mr. Weasley sank into a chair and explained what had happened. Hermione filled in the parts she found particularly offensive. Padfoot made his opinion known with well-timed barks.

“Mr. Crouch did the sensible thing,” Percy said when they had finished. “It seems very unfortunate, but--”

“Unfortunate?” Harry repeated.

“The circumstances were highly suspicious.”

“He wouldn’t have been treated that way if he were anyone else,” Hermione said. “Just because he’s different--”

“He’s a Dark Creature,” Percy said, as if he were explaining to a toddler, “and as such--”

“Don’t you ever call Uncle Remus a Creature,” Harry shouted. “He can’t help being a werewolf, and he’s less dangerous than you are with a cold.”

“I didn’t mean--” Percy tried, but Hermione cut him off.

“Yes, you did! You know exactly what you meant--that somehow Mr. Lupin is more likely to be a Dark wizard in the service of You-Know-Who because he has a--a condition that he can’t help!”

“What does all this have to do with You-Know-Who?” Ron asked. “What was that skull thing?”

“That was You-Know-Who’s symbol,” Mr. Weasley said in a very tired voice. “On that front, I don’t blame Amos and Barty for being cautious. It was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again. No one’s seen the Mark for thirteen years. We all panicked. And finding Bertha….”

“You don’t think the masked wizards killed her, do you?” asked Charlie.

“No, I think whoever killed Bertha and conjured that Mark was not with the mob tonight.”

“They scattered when they saw it,” Bill said. “Disapparated before we could unmask any of them. We managed to catch the Robertses before they hit the ground. They’re having their memories modified now.”

“Why would they do it?” Ginny asked in a small voice.

“You-Know-Who supporters think very highly of their magical blood and very lowly of anyone else. Tormenting Muggles and Muggle-borns is their idea of sport. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn’t resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large.”

“Why would they run if they saw his Mark?” Ron asked. “If they were Death Eaters, wouldn’t they be pleased to see it?”

Bill snorted. “If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they’d be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they’d ever been involved with him when he lost his powers and went back to their daily lives…. I don’t reckon he’d be over-pleased with them, do you?”

 

“Enough of this,” Mr. Weasley said. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll take an early Portkey out of here. Harry, take my bunk.”

“I can sleep on the floor with Padfoot,” Harry said quickly.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

When Harry was small, and his parents took a night out, leaving him to be babysat by Sirius, he would often fall asleep curled up against a large, very warm, black dog. He was bigger now, but not quite as big as Padfoot. Harry wrapped an arm around the dog’s neck and buried his face into the thick fur.

“Dad and Remus will be alright,” Harry whispered, for both his sake, and Sirius’s.

Padfoot growled, but it wasn’t an angry growl, more like a rumble of encouragement.

Thanks to the lullaby of his childhood--a steady heartbeat and heavy breathing--Harry managed to fall into a short and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanons, comments, critiques, and questions always welcome!


	10. Mayhem at the Ministry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Potters get Remus home just in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is REALLY long with LOTS of emotions. I'm asking you not to rush through it. Please make sure you have time set aside to read it, and maybe sit down with a cup of hot chocolate or tea. It took me like an hour just to copyedit it, so I highly recommend you set aside a good 30-ish minutes, depending on your reading speed.
> 
> Special thanks to my wonderful beta, ageofzero, who cares about me outside of just chapters, and duneekah, who listens to my whining about plot and what plot to change.

Harry couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours before Mr. Weasley was waking him up. He groaned and rolled over, and next to him, Padfoot yawned and stretched.

They packed the tent up quietly, all of them exhausted and emotionally drained. Mr. Weasley sent Bill and Charlie to make sure that the Potters’ tent was taken care of. 

“I don’t think it’d be wise to take the dog by Portkey,” Mr. Weasley said. “Harry, can you tell him to go with Bill and Charlie? They’ll Apparate him home.”

Padfoot barked in protest.

“I’ll be fine with Mr. Weasley,” Harry said. “Go on. Charlie will get you back safe.”

Padfoot nudged Harry once and barked at Mr. Weasley, simply to make his displeasure known, before trotting off after Bill and Charlie. Harry stayed close to Ron and Hermione as they walked back to the clearing they’d arrived in. They had to pass Mr. Roberts, who waved at them with a vacant expression and said, “Merry Christmas.”

“He’ll be alright,” Mr. Weasley promised.

Harry certainly hoped so. He wondered if the Robertses would be able to sleep through the night. They must’ve had their memories modified magically, but he hoped they wouldn’t have nightmares about being lifted through the air like a bunch of ragdolls. He shivered at the memory and Hermione reached out to squeeze his hand. He tried to smile at her, but his body didn’t want to do anymore than the bare minimum required to walk. The rest of him was too busy worrying about his family.

When they reached the moor where the Portkeys were, they found hundreds of wizards, all clamoring to leave. Mr. Weasley pushed their way to the front and spoke quietly and urgently to Basil. The Ministry wizard looked over all the Weasleys, lingered briefly on Harry, then nodded. Within moments, they had a rubber tire taking them back to Stoatshead Hill.

The hike, too, was in silence as they walked back to the Burrow. It was easier, going downhill, but no one seemed to have anything to say to each other. Harry didn’t know what could be said after what had happened last night.

The sun was just beginning to grow warm when they crossed the rundown fence onto the Weasleys’ property. They’d barely taken three steps more before Mrs. Weasley came running out of the house, Daily Prophet in hand.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, “thank goodness!”

As soon as she reached them, she abandoned the newspaper to the ground and threw her arms around Mr. Weasley’s neck. “Arthur--I’ve been so worried!”

Harry looked down and saw the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ : “Scenes of Terror at the Quidditch World Cup,” complete with a picture of the Dark Mark. Seeing the glittering skull all over again sent another shiver down his spine.

“You’re all alive,” Mrs. Weasley said, and let Mr. Weasley go. “Oh, boys,” she sobbed, and grabbed Fred and George, pulling them into a hug so tight they each looked like they might snap in two.

“Mum, you’re strangling us--” Fred said.

“I shouted at you before you left!” Mrs. Weasley sobbed. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn’t get enough O.W.L.s?”

Mr. Weasley gently pried her off of the twins. “Come now, Molly, we’re all perfectly okay. Are Bill and Charlie back?”

“Just arrived a few minutes ago.” Mrs. Weasley dabbed at her eyes with her apron, “with that blasted dog, barking up a storm. I hope he’ll settle down when he sees Harry. Are James and Remus not with you?”

Mr. Weasley bent down to pick up the paper and dusted off some of the dirt. “I’m afraid they’re not.”

The whole Weasley family, plus Harry and Hermione, crowded into the kitchen. Ron and Hermione made sure everyone got warm cups of tea. Mrs. Weasley’s hysterics calmed down a little while they all sat together, but really it was the Firewhiskey that Mr. Weasley added to her tea that helped the most.

“What’s in the paper, Dad?” Bill asked as Mr. Weasley skimmed the front page. Percy stood behind Mr. Weasley, reading over his shoulder.

“Nothing good,” Mr. Weasley said. “‘Ministry blunders… lax security… Dark wizards running unchecked… national disgrace…’ Who wrote this? Ah, of course--Rita Skeeter.”

“That woman’s got it in for the Ministry of Magic!” said Percy. “Last week she was saying we’re wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn’t specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans--”

“Does it say anything about Dad?” Harry asked anxiously.

Mr. Weasley paused a moment to browse the article. “I don’t believe so--Oh, dear, ‘While the Ministry is withholding names, at least two suspects were arrested in connection with last night’s attack. Parents should sleep better knowing one is a werewolf who has been on the loose since the end of last summer--’ On the _loose_? What a horrible thing to say.”

Harry was too tired to be angry. Even Padfoot only growled softly from his spot under the table.

“Have you heard from my Mum?” Harry asked Mrs. Weasley.

“No, nothing, dear. Do you want to write her? I’m sure she’s worried.”

Harry wasn’t sure that Lily even knew to be worried. He’d half-expected his mother to be here, as anxious as Mrs. Weasley, but maybe she wasn’t getting the newspaper at her sister’s. She might have gone down to the Ministry to be with James, but she wouldn’t do so without checking on him first. If she wasn’t getting the paper, and James hadn’t written her, then Harry supposed he should let her know, even if it meant sending an owl to a Muggle house.

Mrs. Weasley graciously brought him parchment and a quill. “You can use Errol if you like.”

Harry wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, since Errol was very old, and would not be a very efficient delivery for such an urgent message.

His letter was short. He didn’t want to terrify his mother. He told her there had been a Dark wizard scare at the Quidditch World Cup, but that he was perfectly safe and staying at the Weasleys. He told her that Remus had been wrongly arrested and that James was with him.

“Padfoot is here with me,” he added at the end, “and should probably go home before Mrs. Weasley gets him fat on her sausages.”

He assured her again that he was fine, and that he loved her, then signed his name and slipped the parchment into an envelope.

“Let’s ask Pig to deliver it,” Ron said when he saw Harry sealing the parchment.

But when they went upstairs, Ron’s owl was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t in his cage and he wasn’t in the garden bothering Puck or Crookshanks. It seemed he hadn’t returned from his hunt, or he’d made a burrow that was too hard for Ron, Hermione, or Harry to find, so Harry tied the letter to Errol and sent him off. They watched the old owl struggle his way across the Weasley’s yard from the balcony in Ron’s room.

“He’ll get to her alright,” Ron promised. “He’s a bit old, and a bit rubbish, but he’ll do it.”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione asked.

Harry did want to talk about it, but he wasn’t sure Ron and Hermione could help him.

“The Dark Mark doesn’t mean You-Know-Who is back,” Hermione said. “It was probably just another Dark wizard--”

“My scar hurt, the other day,” Harry said. “It hasn’t hurt since Voldemort was at Hogwarts.”

“You shouldn’t say his name,” Ron said.

“He couldn’t have been nearby,” Hermione said. “I don’t think anyone could get to your house without your parents knowing. It has lots of magical protections, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, loads,” Harry said. It had old family protections from generations of living on that plot of land. It had protections from the war, and it had protections from when Regulus Black escaped Azkaban. Even Voldemort had admitted the house was difficult for him to get to. “But in my dream…. Voldemort was there, with Barty Crouch. Scabbers-Barty, I mean, not Mr. Crouch. He said something about… about killing--” he paused, noting Ron and Hermione’s horrified faces, and decided to omit the part where he was named, “--killing someone, and something about fixing Barty’s mistake.”

“It’s just a nightmare,” Ron said. “Did you tell your parents?”

“I told Mum, and Uncle Remus said it was probably just a nightmare, but it’s weird, right? It’s only been a few days and Voldemort’s sign shows up again.”

“Don’t say his name,” Ron hissed.

“And Professor Trelawney said--”

“Harry, you aren’t going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says, are you?” Hermione asked with a laugh that didn’t quite sound humored. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Maybe most of the time, but Dumbledore and Uncle Remus said that was a real prophecy. Barty Crouch is going to help the Dark Lord return, worse than before.” Harry ran his hand through his hair. “And Mum’s at a Muggle house right now, and Dad and Uncle Remus are probably in Azkaban and Sirius is--”

“It’s going to be alright, Harry,” Hermione said. “Your mum will get your letter, and she’ll know what to do.”

There was an awkward pause where Harry tried to believe Hermione was right. He was used to his parents handling the big problems or even taking the big problems on himself. But with Remus arrested and his father gone too, it made him feel almost abandoned. He just wanted his family back in one place.

“Let’s have a game of Quidditch,” Ron suggested. “You want to try that Wronski Feint, right? And I bet Fred and George will play. I know Charlie really wants to try your Firebolt, too.”

“Ron,” Hermione said, “I don’t think--”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “let’s play some Quidditch.” 

It wouldn’t be the same without his dad or Sirius, but it would be fun. If Ginny and Bill joined them, they could play with a technically full Quidditch team, every man for himself. It was Oliver Wood’s least favorite way to practice Quidditch, but Harry knew it was Fred and George’s favorite--mostly because as Beaters, all they had to do was launch Bludgers at their teammates and each other.

Ron got his broom from under his bed and went to find Fred and George while Harry checked under the table for Padfoot, to see if he also wanted the distraction of a Quidditch scrimmage, but the dog wasn’t under the table. He wasn’t in the yard, either, or with Charlie, who was in his room knitting.

“Oh,” Charlie said when he saw Harry, “are you guys playing Quidditch?”

“Yeah--you should come. Have you seen Padfoot?”

Charlie set aside his knitting and dug through a very small closet for two old brooms. “Yeah, nearly gave Mum a heart attack. Dad and Percy went down to the Ministry through the Floo and Padfoot tried to follow. Took a nice bite out of my arm when I held him back. Last I saw him, he was still sitting by the fire.”

Harry was not at all surprised that Padfoot had tried to go to the Ministry of Magic, or that he had bit Charlie. As dramatic as Sirius was when he was himself, he could get incredibly single-minded as a dog. Last year, he’d bitten Ron’s arm pretty hard trying to catch Barty Crouch, Jr.

“Er, sorry,” Harry said. “Are you okay?”

Charlie laughed. “I patched it up alright. But really, I work with _dragons_. It was nothing.” He showed Harry his forearm, which had three long parallel scars running from elbow to wrist. “And dragon spit doesn’t clean up nearly so easy.” But Charlie was grinning as he said it, in a way that reminded Harry of how manic Hagrid could get about dragons. Charlie bumped Harry’s shoulder with his own as he passed him. I’ll get Bill to join us, then meet you outside.”

Harry went back downstairs and found Padfoot exactly where Charlie had suggested--lying in front of the fireplace.

“We’re going to play Quidditch,” Harry said. “Do you want to come?”

But Padfoot didn’t budge.

“Okay... if you’re sure.”

Harry went outside and the rest of the Weasleys joined him. Even Ginny came and played as a Chaser with Bill and Charlie. Her broom was old and slow, but when Harry offered her a turn on the Firebolt, she went very red and refused.

Harry did trade brooms with Charlie, and let Charlie play Seeker while he took a turn at Chaser. Harry may not have normally played as a Chaser, but he’d played with his dad and Sirius enough to think he was decent at it. But while Ron was Keeper, Harry was unable to make a single goal on the make-shift hoops Bill had transfigured from an old fence.

They all played until it was too dark to see, and finally had to go inside for dinner. Padfoot was still lying by the fire, and only moved when Mr. Weasley and Percy came home. The minute the fire roared green, he stood up and barked, terrifying Mrs. Weasley. Otherwise, he didn’t move from the fireplace--not for Mrs. Weasley’s cooking, not at Harry’s begging, not even to go on a walk with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George, where he would have had an opportunity to turn back into himself for at least a little bit. There was no dragging him away from the fireplace.

Not until two days later, just after breakfast. Ron, and Hermione were comparing notes on their homework assignments, while Harry was taking his Broom Servicing Kit to his Firebolt, when the fireplace burst into green flames unexpectedly, and Padfoot started barking excitedly. Lily came through, still in Muggle clothes with Harry’s letter clutched in her hand. 

Harry abandoned his broom and nearly tripped over Padfoot, who was running around in circles, as he rushed to hug his mother. She squeezed him just as tightly and kissed his forehead.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I’m fine, Mum. Have you heard from Dad?”

“Not yet. I need to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.”

“Dad’s at the Ministry,” said Ron, “but Mum’s in the kitchen.”

Lily squeezed Harry one more time, “Go pack your things,” then walked quickly into the kitchen. Padfoot followed.

Harry looked helplessly at Ron and Hermione. He was unfortunately used to his parents brushing aside serious questions, but he kept hoping one day they would actually trust him with the answers.

“I guess you’re going home.” Ron said, and closed his Potions book.

“I was hoping you could stay until term started,” Hermione said. “That’s how long I’m staying.”

Harry would not have minded staying at Ron’s for another week or two, but he wanted to know that his family was going to be alright. It could have been a perfect summer--watching Viktor Krum play, Ireland winning the Cup, spending long days with the Weasleys playing Quidditch in the yard--but instead the attack at the Cup and Remus’s arrest ruined all of it. Harry felt like his summers were starting to make a habit of being terrible.

Harry put his handle polish back into the kit box. “It’s alright. This way Ron can have his room back.”

Ron’s ears went pink. “I don’t mind having you here,” he said quickly. “I like having you stay. It’s Fred and George I don’t want crowding my room.”

Harry took the Broom Servicing Kit back upstairs and put his things into his bag. Hermione and Ron helped him find everything he’d scattered about Ron’s room, which was surprisingly a lot, considering he’d only packed for a week, thinking the Quidditch Cup couldn’t last much longer than that. Maybe it was a good thing he was going home, since he was nearly out of clean underwear. He didn’t want to impose on Mrs. Weasley and have her do his laundry, too. There were enough people in this house as it was.

But the thought of going back to his house, big and empty, wasn’t very pleasant. If his dad and Remus weren’t there, and Sirius had to go back to his house with Regulus, and it was just him and Lily, who would be worried the whole time….

Harry went back downstairs and paused at the kitchen door. Lily and Mrs. Weasley were whispering, and he silently chided himself for not realizing that his mother had only asked him to pack so she could have a private conversation. He should’ve been eavesdropping.

“Dumbledore’s done his best,” Mrs. Weasley was saying, “but Amelia told Arthur they’re trying to hold him through the end of the week.”

“But that could kill him,” Lily said. “Even if James is there.” She paused, and then made a noise that sounded something like a restrained sob. “I told James this was a terrible idea--I told him not to take Remus but--”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Mrs. Weasley said. “They’ll get this sorted out alright, you’ll see.”

When Lily didn’t say anything else, Harry decided he’d gotten as much as he could out of the conversation, and went into the kitchen. His mother was sitting at the table with a cup of tea and crying. Harry wondered if he should ask Mrs. Weasley to add some Firewhiskey to it.

“Mum,” he sat down next to her, “are you alright?.”

Lily hastily dried her eyes. “I will be. Let’s get you home. Padfoot can take care of the cat, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Mrs. Weasley’s brow furrowed when Lily mentioned the dog caring for the cat, but she said nothing and took a sip of her tea.

“Maybe you should go help Dad?” Harry suggested. “He was… not like he normally is, when we were at the Cup. And if he hasn’t talked to you, maybe he’s not thinking straight. Maybe you could help him and Remus.”

She sighed. “You’re very good, you know? But I want to know that you’re okay--”

“I am, Mum, really.”

“It’s no trouble,” Mrs. Weasley said, “if Harry wants to stay. I’m sure Ron would love to have him a little longer.”

Lily bit down on her lower lip. She seemed very unsure, and Harry didn’t blame her. Last time she’d left him somewhere for a lengthy period of time, while she dealt with Ministry business, Harry had gotten so frustrated, he’d run away. But this time, his parents were being honest with him about what was happening. This time he wasn’t in the dark. This time, he knew that there wasn’t anything he could do to help Remus, except maybe let his mother go so she could do what needed to be done.

“You’re sure, both of you?” Lily asked.

“Of course,” Mrs. Weasley said, “Harry’s a wonderful guest.”

Harry nodded. “You should go, Mum.”

“Okay.” Lily nodded and took a sip of her tea. She seemed so steeled by it that Harry wondered if Mrs. Weasley had actually put Firewhiskey in it. “I can at least get Padfoot home to take care of the cat--”

Padfoot, who had been sitting quietly at Lily’s feet, barked sharply in protest.

“Well I’m not taking you to the Ministry!”

He barked again and growled at her.

“You will absolutely make things worse,” she scolded. “You can go home to the cat, or you can stay here with Harry.”

Padfoot growled for a moment, but there was no arguing with Lily, not for Sirius and not for Padfoot. He laid down again, defeated.

Lily shook her head. “Is it alright if the dog stays too?”

Mrs. Weasley had watched the exchange with both confusion and curiosity. Harry was worried his parents were far too obvious about their interactions with Padfoot, but Mrs. Weasley didn’t comment on it. She said, “I think Charlie would be rather disappointed if he left.”

“Thank you,” Lily said, and finished her tea. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.” She kissed Harry’s forehead, thanked Mrs. Weasley again, and left through the fireplace.

Harry went back upstairs to tell Ron and Hermione he wasn’t leaving after all.

Padfoot resumed his vigilance at the fireside, and for the rest of the day, Harry stayed with Ron and Hermione, waiting anxiously for word about his parents in between Quidditch games with the other Weasleys.

Mr. Weasley came home late that night and told Harry he’d heard through a couple of people a fantastic story--Lily had marched right into the Wizengamot and shouted at James in front of the entire collection of judges. Mr. Weasley said it was probably an exaggerated version of events by the time it got to him, but Harry didn’t think so. He fully believed in his mother’s ability to be loudly angry with her husband anywhere, at any time.

Mr. Weasley also said she’d also shouted at the Wizengamot for their treatment of Remus, which he, again, assured Harry was probably an exaggeration. But Harry knew better. Lily wasn’t just good at shouting at her husband, she was incredibly good at defending the people she loved, which included Remus.

The next day, Mr. Weasley delivered the wonderful news that the case about the Dark Mark was finally over, but Amelia Bones had told him that Remus Lupin was accused of being unsafe, and the court wanted proof he was taking all the proper precautions.

“Of course he takes proper precautions,” Harry said, and Padfoot barked in agreement.

“Your parents are doing everything they can to prove that.”

The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione were all sitting down to a late dinner less than an hour after Mr. Weasley came home when Padfoot, again, started barking from the living room.

Mrs. Weasley threw down her napkin. “That dog is going to give me a heart attack before Fred and George can--”

“I’ll take care of it, Mum,” Charlie said, and disappeared into the living room. He shouted back, moments later, “Mum, Dad! It’s Mrs. Potter!”

Harry, Hermione, and every Weasley left dinner to crowd into the living room.

It wasn’t actually Lily--just her face in the green flames. Harry had never seen his parents using the Floo message system, not from this side before. It was very odd to see the fire take the shape of his mother’s face. She almost looked sickly. He really hoped that was from the fire and not the way she actually looked.

“There you are,” she said. “Oh--goodness, all of you. Well--just send Harry on home when he’s ready. We’re all home safe, and we’d like to talk to him, of course. I think he’ll be able to manage the dog.”

Padfoot barked eagerly and tried to walk into the fire, but Harry grabbed his tail. “I’ll be home soon, Mum,” he said.

And she was gone. She seemed in quite the rush. Even though she’d said everything was fine, Harry wondered what was wrong.

Despite Harry’s vague concern, the rest of dinner had a bit more cheer to it. It was like a weight had been lifted off the entire family, knowing Remus and James were home safe. The only one who seemed more anxious was Padfoot, who had abandoned his seat by the fire and was instead hounding Harry for the rest of the evening. He sat next to his chair while he ate, barking on occasion; he followed him to the kitchen sink when he put his dishes away; he followed him upstairs while he repacked his things; and he followed him back downstairs.

Mrs. Weasley made sure Harry had all of his things, twice, and asked him three times if he would be able to Floo with the dog. Harry assured her he was perfectly fine.

Harry took a pinch of Floo powder, threw it into the Weasleys’ fireplace, and announced his family home--“Styncon Garden.” With one hand on his broom, and the other on Padfoot, he stepped through the flames.

He felt like he was moving very quickly, catching brief glimpses of other fireplaces that weren’t his, before he finally recognized the scent of his family home and stepped through. He only stumbled a little when his feet hit the hearth. Padfoot didn’t miss a beat and took off running and barking. He didn’t make it very far--Lily came out of the kitchen and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

“Remus is sleeping,” she snapped. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She took her wand out and there was a flash of blue light. Padfoot became Sirius--a very disheveled and disoriented Sirius. “You should go check on your brother. It’s been nearly a week.”

“Remus--” Sirius’s voice was hoarse. Harry wasn’t surprised. Sirius had been doing nothing but barking for quite some time.

“Remus is sleeping,” Lily repeated. “Either go home to your brother or--”

There was a loud crash from upstairs and a yell that sounded a lot like James.

“--or you can go help James clean out the attic.”

Sirius grumbled at her, something that sounded strangely like a Padfoot sort of growl. Then, using the bannister to keep his balance, Sirius climbed upstairs. Harry suspected he wasn’t going to help James at all, and that he’d be checking on Remus instead. Lily went back into the kitchen and Harry was a little hurt she hadn’t even said hello to him. What had happened at the Ministry?

He left his broom and his bag in the parlor and followed her. “Mum, what’s going on?”

She was hastily emptying cupboards and putting glass jars and vials into boxes. “Oh, Harry, I’m sorry. We’re just in a rush. I’ll explain everything--Can you take that box to your room?” She pointed at another box that was resting on the countertop behind her. “There should be a panel behind your bookshelf just big enough for it.”

“You want me to hide it?” Harry asked in surprise.

“Yes, please.”

Harry did as she asked, though he had to empty the hiding space behind his bookshelf. He’d stored a lot of things there over the years--tricks from Zonkos, since his parents still didn’t know he’d been to Hogsmeade against their wishes, Halloween treats and treasures from when he was a kid, and a few butterbeers he’d saved in case of a rainy day. He took these things and shoved them under his bed, trusting that whatever it was his mother was having him hide was important.

He took his bag up to his room as well, and unpacked it. His dirty laundry went downstairs to the attached room on the back of the house for his mum or dad to do later.

Then he went back to the kitchen where Lily was just sealing up the second box. She lifted it off the counter and seemed to struggle under its weight.

“I’ve got one last thing to take care of. Here,” she shoved the box at him. “Hide this in mine and your dad’s bathroom. Just put it in the bath, and I’ll find his Cloak to throw over it.”

Harry didn’t understand why his mother was emptying their Potions cabinet and hiding its contents, but he didn’t ask questions, not when she looked so rushed. He took the box to his parents’ room and was surprised by how clean the room was. Usually there were clothes or blankets scattered about, except for on Saturdays when they cleaned the house. Then Harry realized no one had slept in here since they’d left for the Quidditch Cup. He set the box in the bathtub and went looking for his mother again.

He found her in the back of the house, coming out of the hidden grove Harry was not allowed to play Quidditch in. There were some rules Harry broke or pushed the boundaries on, usually because he didn’t understand why those rules were there, so he didn’t see the sense in following them. But the forbidden grove was not one of those rules. He knew exactly why it was forbidden. It was where they grew aconite. Accidentally brushing against the leaves could be fatal.

Lily was wearing her dragonhide gloves and carrying a large wooden box with blue and purple flowers hanging out of it. It looked like she’d uprooted the entire garden.

“Mum, what’s going on?”

“The Ministry will be here some time tomorrow morning,” she said, and carried the box into the kitchen. “We can’t have any sign of what we do for Remus, so you have to promise you won’t say anything.”

“You mean you aren’t allowed to brew the Wolfsbane potion?”

Lily dropped the box into the sink and began washing her dragonhide gloves. “I’m afraid we were denied that permit. We reapply every 99 days, but I don’t know what it is they think I’m incapable of.” Once she was satisfied the gloves were clean, she took her wand out of her cloak and set the box in the sink on fire.

“Do you have to get rid of all of it?”

“I won’t risk the Ministry finding it and arresting one or all of us for growing it illegally.”

“But now you’ll have to start over. Does it take long to grow?”

Her face was pinched like she was biting on her cheeks. “About two to three years to flower. But we’ll manage. We may have to buy it, but there are markets for these things. It won’t be the end of the world, I promise.”

Harry knew it wasn’t the end of the world, but he was worried for Uncle Remus. And he didn’t like the idea of his mother or his father buying wolfsbane on the black market. He was beginning to feel like he came from a family of criminals, but it wasn’t like they actually did anything wrong. They were only doing what they could to help a friend. At least Harry now knew where he got his penchant for rule-breaking from.

“Come on upstairs, I need to ask your dad where he keeps his Invisibility Cloak.”

Harry was pretty sure his father didn’t have two Invisibility Cloaks, so she must’ve meant the one his dad had given him for Christmas three years ago. “Er--I know where it is, Mum, why don’t you go help Dad, and I’ll take care of the box.”

Lily raised her eyebrows at him. “You know where it is?”

“Yes.”

She pressed her lips into a very thin line and said, “We’ll talk about that later, then. Go on.”

Harry wondered who was going to be in more trouble--him, or his father--but he didn’t ask. Lily went up to the attic and Harry covered the box he’d left in his parents bathroom with the Invisibility Cloak. Out of curiosity, he checked the Potions cabinet and found it was very sparse, except for a few bottles labeled as remedies for headaches and indigestion. There was also a shelf of ingredients labeled “Pepper-Up Potion.” But there were no signs that his family ever brewed Wolfsbane.

Harry went up to the attic and was surprised by how empty it looked. He had come up here a few times when he was small, looking for decorations with his mum for the holidays, or just to explore with Sirius and Remus on a rainy day. The ceiling was high enough that Harry could stand up straight, but his head brushed the top of the lowest beams. It wouldn’t be long before he would have to stoop like his parents.

Normally, the attic was packed with old furniture and trunks, stuffed to the brim with family heirlooms, potions recipes, and failed transfiguration experiments. Right now, about half of those things had disappeared. James was using his wand to drag one trunk across the floor to the trapdoor that Harry was still standing in. Lily was pulling a bunch of floral-print fabric out of another trunk. The fabric looked normal to Harry at first, but then the flowers changed seasons and began to wilt.

“Do we really need this, James?” she asked desperately. “Can’t I just Vanish it?”

James paused and looked over at Lily. “Absolutely not! That was my great-grandmother’s! Her robes were legendary during the turn of the century. You can’t throw out her fabric. It’s all we have left of that spellwork.”

Lily sighed heavily and slammed the trunk closed.

Harry didn’t ask why they were emptying out the attic, but he got out his wand and helped his Dad levitate the trunk out of the attic and into the hallway.

“Thanks, Snitch,” James said, and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his robes.

Harry noticed, now that they were out of the faint light in the attic, how haggard his father looked. His chin was spotted with stubble. His hazel eyes seemed dim, their usual twinkle extinguished by worry and exhaustion. His hair was messier than usual and covered with dust. He seemed thinner, too, like he hadn’t eaten since the Quidditch Cup.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked.

“Just need a good night’s sleep,” James said with a sigh, “soon as we finish this.”

“I can help Mum. You go to bed.”

James laughed. “Thanks, but I don’t trust your mother not to get rid of half this stuff.”

“Is it all that important?”

“It’s your heritage. I wouldn’t get rid of an ounce of it.”

Harry followed his dad back up the ladder into the attic. “Why do we need to empty the attic, anyway?”

His father frowned and went over to a tall piece of furniture covered in a plain white sheet. “It’s for Remus.”

“Is something wrong with him going to Sirius’s again?” Harry looked under the sheet and found a mirror. He didn’t know why it was covered, but he decided he didn’t want to find out. He quickly dropped the sheet.

“They don’t have the Wolfsbane Potion on hand at the Ministry,” James grumbled as he and Harry started levitating the mirror. “So--”

“Harry!” Lily said, startling both him and his father. The mirror fell to the floor and shattered, but it didn’t just shatter; it screamed.

“Bloody hell,” James muttered, and tapped the mirror with his wand. It disappeared instantly.

“What was that?” Harry asked.

But before his dad could explain, his mother said, “Harry, you are not allowed to use spells outside of school!”

“Come off it, Lily,” James said. “We’re at home, we’re here to make sure he’s doing it proper, there aren’t any Muggles around--”

“That doesn’t make it acceptable--”

“Sure it does.”

“Honestly, James--”

“Honestly, Lily,” he said in a very grating imitation of her voice. “He’s fourteen, not eleven.”

“He’s fourteen, not seventeen!”

Lily looked furious, and James looked exhausted. Harry hadn’t seen his parents fight like this in a long time.

“Mum, Dad, why don’t we all go to bed?”

“Not until this is finished,” James said. “The last thing we need is Amos Diggory writing up some sort of fine--or worse.”

“We wouldn’t be in this mess if you’d just listened to me,” Lily said. “I told you not to take Remus to the Cup--”

“I know what you told me! I remember when you said it, and I remember when you told me again in front of the entire Wizengamot, and I remember when you told me again when we got home and put Remus to bed--Merlin, Lily, how many times do we have to go over it? I’m sorry I wanted to give you a nice week with your sister! I’ve done everything I can to keep Remus safe, and I don’t need to hear about how terrible I am at it seven times over!”

The attic was very still. Harry felt like he was still hearing an echo of the mirror’s scream, but there was no sound or movement at all, not until Lily finally whispered, “James, get some rest.”

“You get some rest,” he snapped back, and pointed his wand at the trunk of fabric beside Lily. It was, however, very heavy, and only budged an inch closer to him. He pointed his wand again, and it moved, too quickly this time, and knocked James over. He let out a very rude swear that Harry had only ever heard Sirius use twice before.

Lily used her wand and pulled the trunk back against the wall. “Let’s just push everything against the walls and put a Disillusionment Charm on it.”

“I don’t want Remus accidentally tearing it up. We don’t know what state he’ll be in tomorrow night.”

“James, they’re just things.”

“Irreplaceable things!”

“They’re just things,” Lily repeated firmly. “Remus’s safety, your health, and just getting through tomorrow are our priorities.”

Harry felt afraid to breathe as he waited for his dad’s answer. He’d never seen his dad fight so furiously before. He felt like he didn’t know this person he’d watched appear at the Quidditch World Cup. He wondered if it was from worrying about Remus or if this was what his dad had been like during the war. Maybe seeing the Dark Mark had shaken something loose in him.

To Harry’s surprise, James neither fought Lily’s suggestion nor gave into it. Instead, he burst into tears.

Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his dad cry. Not when Harry had gone to Hogwarts for the first time, not when he and his mother had nearly been killed by a basilisk, not when Harry had run away and they’d been terrified Regulus Black would kill him. Harry felt very strangely out of his element as Lily crossed the attic to hug James and whisper soothingly. There wasn’t anything for him to do but stand and watch.

Lily helped James to his feet and they all left the attic. Harry closed the trap door behind them and followed his parents back downstairs, where Lily sat James down at the dining room table. He managed to calm himself down enough that he wasn’t crying, just taking in very shaky breaths.

Harry followed Lily into the kitchen. “Can I help?”

Lily smiled, but it was a sad smile, “I don’t think so. Your dad’s just had a very stressful week. He’ll be alright.”

“Did he… Did he and Remus stay in Azkaban?”

Lily didn’t answer. Instead she pulled a handful of vials from the Potions cabinet, and that was really all the answer Harry needed.

“He’ll be alright,” she repeated. “I’m just going to fix him a quick sleeping potion. He’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

“Right as what?”

Her sad smile twitched with amusement. “Fit as a Flitterby,” she amended.

“Is Uncle Remus alright?” Harry asked, and got the cauldron out from under the counter for her.

Lily looked less confident as she said, “I’m sure he will be. Dementors are unpleasant business on the best days, and Remus… well, he wasn’t having very good days. He’s very tired, and hopefully if he rests until tomorrow night, he’ll be okay.”

“Hopefully?”

“Sometimes all we can do is hope.” Lily looked on the verge of tears, so Harry decided it would be better not to press her. He didn’t need both his parents crying. 

He asked no more questions that night. He helped his mother with the potion as much as she let him, which was perhaps fair because Potions wasn’t his strongest subject, and while she got James to bed, Harry cleaned up the kitchen.

When he was finished, he went up to his room, but paused at Remus’s door. He heard only the sound of Sirius’s--or Padfoot’s--heavy snoring, so Harry could only assume everything was alright. He fell asleep hoping that tomorrow morning things might look better, but with the light of the nearly-full moon streaming through his open window, he wasn't quite sure how.

\--- --- ---

Morning did look better than last night had, largely because of the warm sun coming in through his window, and the knowledge that he was safe at home and his family was all under one roof again. It was the sort of day that was perfect for flying before it grew too warm. Harry dressed quickly--but carefully--knowing some sort of Ministry officials were coming today. He wondered if there was time to finish cleaning the attic out.

When he went downstairs, the only person awake was his mother, putting together five bowls of porridge. She was just adding freshly sliced strawberries on top when Harry came into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she said with a smile. She looked much better for her night of sleep.

“‘Morning,” Harry said. “How’s Dad?”

“Tired, but better. I told him he’s not allowed to come out until he shaves.” Lily sprinkled brown sugar and a dash of salt over the porridge and handed two bowls to Harry. “Take these to Remus and Sirius? I’m not sure Remus will be hungry, but I want him to try to get something substantial down.”

Harry took the bowls upstairs without complaint. He knocked on Remus’s door, carefully to avoid spilling or dropping porridge, and after a moment opened it.

The room was still dark, curtains drawn, but despite that, it was quickly warming to the hot summer day. He was only half-surprised to see Padfoot curled up on the end of the bed. Surely Sirius would’ve been tired of being a dog after so long stuck as one, but Harry knew from personal experience how comforting it was to have a large dog to sleep with when you weren’t feeling well.

Remus was still asleep, but Padfoot’s ears perked at the nearly imperceptible creak of the door. The dog stretched and yawned, then suddenly became Sirius, and slipped off the bed. He seemed unsteady on two feet rather than four, and had to lean against the foot of the bed to keep from falling over.

“‘Morning,” Harry whispered and handed Sirius one of the bowls of porridge. “Mum made breakfast.”

Sirius took the bowl and yawned again. “Thanks. Let’s leave Remus’s on the table. He can have it when he--”

“I’m awake,” Remus mumbled, voice still thick with weariness.

“Sorry.” Sirius stumbled to Remus’s bedside and set the porridge on the nightstand, beside Remus’s wand. “Go back to sleep. We’ll keep it warm for you.”

Remus shook his head and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. It was clear he was either in a lot of physical pain or he simply didn’t have any energy. “Don’t bother; porridge sounds revolting right now.” He looked at the freshly sliced strawberries and wrinkled his nose.

“I’ll have Mum make you some tea,” Harry said. “But she did say she wants you to eat solid food.” He stepped closer, trying to get a better look at Remus in the light from the hallway.

Remus’s appearance was a lot like James’s from the night before--gaunt, scruffy, and weary. There were dark circles under his eyes and Harry was sure that Remus hadn’t eaten in days. He hoped that had more to do with Remus’s particular appetite before the full moon and less to do with how he’d been treated while at the Ministry. 

Remus sighed heavily. “I’ll see what I can get down. How are you doing, Harry?”

“I’m alright. Are you alright?”

Remus tried to smile, but it didn’t look natural for the state he was in. “I will be. All I want right now is some quiet and some sunshine.”

Harry opened the curtains, and in the morning sunlight, Remus looked even worse; his pale skin contrasted heavily with the dark shadows under his eyes and the sharpness of his cheekbones.

“I must look worse than I feel, if that’s your reaction,” Remus said. “Go, eat breakfast, and don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked.

“Quite. Go on. And help Sirius down the stairs. He’s been on four legs far too long.”

Sirius frowned. “I’m fine,” but he stumbled as he took a step and Harry caught him.

“I’ve got him,” Harry promised. “You rest, and try to eat.”

Remus nodded and Harry made sure to close the door behind him and Sirius.

“I’m worried he won’t be strong enough to Floo to Grimmauld Place tonight,” Sirius said, as Harry helped him down the stairs.

“Oh--Dad cleared out the attic for him.”

Sirius startled so much he pushed Harry away, fell into the bannister, lost his grip, and slipped down the rest of the stairs, naturally setting off the alarm on the fourth step. The portraits erupted into chaos, scolding Sirius and Harry. One even shouted that there was a burglar loose in the house.

Lily appeared at the foot of the stairs, shouting too, but Harry’s ears were ringing from the buzzer so badly that it took a minute for her voice to filter in.

“....why you’re still here! I’m sure Regulus is worried about you.”

Sirius slowly got to his feet. “Regulus wouldn’t be worried about me even if he got an owl asking for a ransom. I want to know what you’re thinking putting Remus in the attic tonight!”

“We’re thinking that the Ministry wouldn’t approve if we told them that Remus transforms in your house every month, and that Regulus wouldn’t appreciate any surprise visits from the Department of the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. And that I’d like Remus here in case… in case it doesn’t go well.”

“Of course it’s not going to go well if you lock him in a bloody attic!”

“What would you have me do?” Lily’s hands were tight fists at her side and her face was flushed to the roots of her hair. “Please, I would love to hear a better idea, something that keeps Remus safe, pacifies the Ministry, and protects Regulus? Because I have been cleaning up yours and James’s mistakes for years and I will gladly hand that responsibility off if you can take it.”

“No one asked you to!” Sirius shouted back. “James, Remus, and I aren’t your children! You’re not our nanny or our mother--”

“Sirius.” James had finally come out of his and Lily’s room, probably beckoned by all the shouting. He looked a lot better than he had last night, in Harry’s opinion. There was more color to his face, which was now clean shaven. His eyes were still dull, but Harry didn’t expect anyone to be content again until they knew that Remus had safely made it through tonight’s full moon.

“Sirius, we’ve had this fight already. Don’t talk to Lily that way.”

Sirius did not look scolded. If anything, he looked even angrier. “So you agree with her? You’re just going to lock Remus in the attic like--like some sort of animal?”

James sighed and took his glasses off to clean them on his shirt. “I wish there was another option. Eat something, Sirius, and spend some time being human. You get irrationally stubborn when you spend too long being Padfoot.”

“I might as well stay a dog the rest of the day! I’m not letting him stay up there by himself.”

“Of course you’ll be with him,” James said. “I wouldn’t let Remus be up there by himself.”

“James,” Lily said, “he can’t.”

Sirius made a noise that sounded very much like one of Padfoot’s snarls.

“With the Ministry here, it’s a bad idea. We don’t need Sirius getting arrested for being unregistered on top of all this.”

“It’ll be fine,” James insisted. 

“Fine? Like how the Cup went fine?”

“Mum,” Harry interrupted, knowing he did not want a repeat of their fight last night, “Dad, can we eat breakfast?” 

James and Lily each took a deep breath and managed to sit down to breakfast with civility. Sirius, however, was still seething. He tapped his spoon repeatedly against the table instead of eating his porridge. It was clearly annoying to Lily, but she said nothing about it. James didn’t even seem to hear it. His mind was clearly elsewhere as he ate.

Harry found the noise only mildly irritating. He missed Mrs. Weasley’s cooking--her potatoes and sausage and scones. The porridge was fine, but it wasn’t the same, especially being eaten in silence like this. Not only did Harry dislike a quiet meal, this silence in particular didn’t feel like his family at all. For some reason, home didn’t feel like home right now.

Sirius kept tapping, and Harry was about to tell him to stop when he realized that Sirius wasn’t just tapping his spoon on the table--he was staring intently at Lily, like he knew it annoyed her and he was waiting for her to say something. Lily, however, was ignoring him completely.

Harry opened his mouth to tell them to stop, but James beat him to it.

“Sirius,” James said, and Sirius stopped tapping his spoon long enough to take an angry bite of his porridge.

“If you don’t want Lily to mother you,” James continued, “maybe don’t treat her the way you treated your mother.”

Harry didn’t know much about Sirius’s mother, other than she was dead, and when she was alive, she hadn’t gotten along with Sirius. Apparently, though, James’s comment crossed some sort of line, because Sirius got up without a word. He left his porridge, though he’d only taken a bite of it, and disappeared upstairs, stomping very loudly on the dead center of the fourth step. James got up, but he didn’t shout at Sirius; he only calmed the portraits and reminded them that the burglar alarm hadn’t worked properly in over a hundred years, and they knew this, and there was no need to raise a fuss.

Lily let out a very slow breath and pressed one hand against her temple. “We just need to get through tonight,” she said. “Tomorrow, everything will be over.”

Harry wished there was more he could do, but he felt helpless. The last couple years, he’d fought with his parents to be told more, to be involved, because he knew he could help if they would only let him. But this time there was nothing for him to do. He couldn’t brew a Wolfsbane Potion like his mother, and even if he could, it was too late for that. He couldn’t turn into an Animagi like Sirius or his father, and even if he could, that would only be one more secret his family had to keep from the Ministry. 

James came back into the kitchen and rested his hands on Lily’s shoulders. “We can do this.” He kissed her cheek, squeezed her shoulders, then said, “Harry, will you help me finish cleaning out the attic?”

“Sure.” Harry cleared the dishes from the table and joined his father upstairs.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in dust and old family heirlooms. Lily stayed downstairs in the bathroom, presumably putting together a batch of secret potions the Ministry couldn’t know about, but she would need on hand as soon as the moon set.

Harry checked on Remus around lunch time, and every hour after that, since he was the only one who could stick his head into Remus’s room without having Padfoot growl at him. More often than not, Remus was asleep when Harry stopped by, but when he was awake, he did manage to get down a few pieces of toast and one cup of tea.

After a hasty dinner, Lily and James did a sweep of the house, making sure all contraband was properly hidden. Lily also cornered Harry in the bathroom and tried to straighten his hair, which she hadn’t done since his twelfth birthday when they’d visited her Muggle family. 

At exactly seven o’clock, there was a knock. Lily smoothed her robes and opened the door.

Harry was not at all pleased to see Amos Diggory and the official who’d said hello to his father at the Cup, Andrews. And though he knew his parents weren’t pleased either, it was impossible to tell from their faces.

“Good evening,” Mr. Diggory said and shook Lily’s hand. “Amos Diggory. I don’t think you and I have been properly introduced.”

“No, though I have written you letters,” Lily said with a sweet smile. “Cedric’s father, aren’t you? I had him when he was studying for his O.W.L.s. Very gifted student. I believe he got an Outstanding, didn’t he? How did he like his N.E.W.T. class?”

Mr. Diggory caught on very quickly and immediately went red in the face. “He liked it very much. I…. He told me he was very disappointed that his, er, professor wouldn’t be returning.”

Lily’s sad smile was full of victory. “Yes, it is a shame.”

Harry couldn’t help being impressed. Lily spoke as easily as his father had talked to the Ministry before the Quidditch match. It seemed it wasn’t just his dad who was good at getting out of trouble.

His parents introduced him properly to Andrews, from the Department for the Regulation of Magical Substances. James, again mentioned they’d attended school together. Harry wasn’t very impressed with the round, platinum-haired man. Anyone who had denied his mother a permit to brew a potion didn’t know what he was doing at his job.

“Where shall we start?” Lily asked.

There was an hour before sunset, so Mr. Diggory insisted on starting with what he called “the place you plan to contain the beast.”

Harry was very glad Sirius was not around for that comment. They didn’t need any disasters tonight.

James led the way up the stairs, warning them to skip the fourth step, and up to the attic. He and Harry had managed to get the rest of the things out, so it was only an empty space, not quite two meters high, slanted ceilings, and low wooden beams.

“Silencing and Strengthening Charms on the whole thing,” James promised as he patted one of the beams. “And a Locking Charm of my own invention for the trapdoor.”

Mr. Diggory frowned as he surveyed the space and Harry wondered what could possibly be wrong with it.

“It’s surprisingly sparse,” Mr. Diggory said. “I thought, knowing you, you’d have a bed for him or something.”

James stared at Mr. Diggory like he’d sprouted Kneazle ears. “It isn’t like he lives up here! Merlin, this is just for one night a month.”

“Yes, of course.” Mr. Diggory coughed into his hand. “Well, it all seems in order. Andrews?”

“I’ll need to see where you keep your potions, of course,” Andrews said. “And your garden will need to be inspected, and I’ll need to see every room of the house.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure he understood why Andrews had to be there. Mr. Diggory was there to make sure Remus wouldn’t hurt anyone else--that made sense. Andrews, though, seemed to be there just to make sure they weren’t brewing the Wolfsbane Potion, which Harry thought sounded a lot like making sure they were limited in the ways they could help Remus. It seemed like the Ministry cared less about making sure Remus was safe and more like making sure they were in charge of the situation.

“Lily,” James said, “why don’t you show Andrews down to the kitchen? Harry and I will meet you there. I don’t want to risk Remus getting up here too late to get settled.”

“I’d love to,” Lily said, and Harry thought she very much would not love to give Andrews a tour of their house. “It is a very large house,” she said as she led him back downstairs, “so whenever you tire, we’d be happy to sit you down with a cup of tea.”

“Help me with Remus, will you Harry?” James said, though he didn’t need to say it at all.

Mr. Diggory followed them to Remus’s room, but hesitated at the door because Padfoot started growling at him. James lightly smacked Padfoot’s nose as he passed, and Padfoot snapped at his hand. Harry didn’t blame Sirius for being so irritable, but he wished Sirius didn’t feel like he had to fight James and Lily about it. They weren’t the problem.

James gently shook Remus awake. “Hey, time to go.”

Remus seemed only half-awake as James helped him out of bed. He winced when he stood, and Harry immediately went to his side to help support him. James took the other.

“Alright?” James asked.

“Usual aches,” Remus murmured back.

Harry wasn’t sure that these aches were very “usual.” Sure, Remus would often spend a day or two on the couch, or he would turn in early and rise late, but Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Remus incapacitated to this extreme. He’d never thought about how much Remus’s emotional state affected the severity of his symptoms. It was no wonder his parents and Sirius were always so careful with Remus.

They helped Remus down the hall and to the attic. Padfoot followed, sure to bark at Mr. Diggory as he passed, and again when he had to wait at the bottom of the ladder while everyone else climbed upstairs.

Once they were in the attic, James sent Harry down to grab the blankets and pillows off the bed.

“Don’t,” Remus said, “they’ll get ruined.”

“They’re only things,” James said.

Harry went back to the bedroom, and when Padfoot realized what he was doing, the dog grabbed pillows and blankets in his teeth and dragged them back to the ladder. Harry put them all up in the attic, then took on the very difficult task of helping the four-legged dog up the ladder.

Remus looked at the blankets and Padfoot, who was already nesting in them, and sighed.

“James, you shouldn’t.”

But James didn’t listen. “You can have Padfoot drop your clothes down and I’ll seal the door, alright?”

Remus rubbed a hand over his face and nodded.

Harry, James, and Mr. Diggory climbed back down the ladder. Mr. Diggory paused on the last rung, and looked up.

“You’re sure about leaving the dog?” he asked.

“They always play together the night of the full moon,” James said. “Makes the transformation process easier, and the recovery process quicker. Personally, I think the Ministry ought to assign companion dogs for all registered werewolves. Muggles do it all the time, you know.”

“So… he won’t eat the dog?”

James snorted and caught the trousers that fell from the ceiling. “Not at all. You can see how protective Padfoot is. Nothing but trust between those two.”

Harry wished that were entirely true. He thought it obvious that each trusted the other completely, but after hearing about what had happened between them during the war, he felt that they were both still unsure just how much that trust was reciprocated. It explained a lot of the things between Remus and Sirius that Harry had never quite understood.

When the last of the clothes had come through, James used his wand to close the trapdoor. there was a click, but Harry didn’t know what locking spell his father had used. Maybe he didn’t want Mr. Diggory knowing the spell.

James checked his watch. “About twenty minutes until the sun sets. Good timing. Shall we find Lily and Andrews?”

Mr. Diggory didn’t follow when James started for the stairs. “Aren’t you going to cast a Silencing Charm?” he asked.

James looked absolutely shocked, but Harry wasn’t sure the shock was real. “Goodness, then how would we know if something went wrong? We’ve got to be able to hear everything, to know that everything’s okay. Padfoot’s not just a companion; he can alert us if there’s trouble.”

They found Mr. Andrews in the back garden, looking through their plants thoroughly, poking his wand between the knotgrass, centaury, squill, and other unusual herbs that weren’t suitable for Muggles.

“Is this Tentacula?” Andrews asked Lily, poking his wand at a limp length of vines. “ _Illusio_ ,” he said, low, like he didn’t want them to hear, but it wasn’t low enough.

“Lady’s Mantle,” Lily said.

“You’d think they’d teach you the difference in job training,” James said to Harry, in a quiet voice, yet clearly meant for Andrews to hear.

Andrews looked embarrassed, deemed the back garden acceptable to Ministry standards, and said that yes, the Potters had permission to grow all of these plants.

“Just the upstairs bedrooms left, then?” Lily said.

“Yes,” Andrews said.

“I’ll get tea then, while you do that?” James suggested with a painfully innocent smile.

Lily’s smile was equally innocent and equally suspicious. “That would be wonderful, thank you, dear.” She kissed his cheek as she led Andrews inside and upstairs.

Harry followed James and Mr. Diggory into the kitchen.

James filled the kettle in the sink. “So, apart from the Dark wizards running rampant,” he said casually, “the Quidditch match was entertaining.”

“Oh,” Mr. Diggory seemed thrown by such normal conversation. “It was. Cedric loved it. He’s a big fan of Viktor Krum.”

“Harry, too,” James said as he tapped the kettle with his wand and it began to whistle.

Harry wasn’t quite sure what game his parents were playing at, but he said, “Yeah, he was really great. Didn’t expect him to catch the Snitch when Bulgaria was down like that. Glad Ireland won though. They played really well. Did you know my dad used to play Chaser?”

“I didn’t,” Mr. Diggory said, and then, “Oh--thank you,” as James handed him a cup of tea.

“I got asked to play for Banchory Bangers,” James said. “Turned it down, though.”

“I had no idea,” Mr. Diggory said.

“Yeah, things were just a bit busy with the war and all, that--” James was cut off by a horrifying scream from upstairs that went on for about thirty seconds until it turned into a howl.

Mr. Diggory looked nearly as white as his teacup, and Harry also felt like he ought to run, but he tried to mimic his father’s perfectly calm expression. He’d only heard those noises once before--when Remus had transformed without his potion last June, on the grounds of Hogwarts--but now he had to pretend his family endured this every month.

Now Harry understood that his parents had put together a cleverly calculated plan to make Mr. Diggory understand exactly what he, and the rest of the Ministry, was putting their family through. They wanted him to sit here and feel terrible about what he had done to them.

It was only minutes before Andrews and Lily came down the stairs.

“Did you want some tea?” Lily asked.

“Thank you,” Andrews said, “but perhaps we should be going.” He looked far more shaken than Mr. Diggory.

Mr. Diggory set his tea down. “I suppose everything is in order. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Our pleasure,” Lily said. “I’ll show you to the door.”

The minute Andrews and Mr. Diggory left the kitchen, James leaned back against the counter. He let out a slow, heavy breath, and sank to the floor. Harry set his tea down and took a seat next to his father.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked.

“Fine,” James said. “We just have to get through tonight, right?”

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he nodded.

They heard the front door close and Lily came back to the kitchen. She got herself a cup of tea, then sat down on the floor next to James, not exactly leaning against him, but pressing her shoulder against his.

“Why did they have to come?” Harry asked.

Lily took a sip of her tea, then let her head rest against the cabinet. “They were desperate to stick some sort of charge on Remus. They didn’t want to admit they’d wrongfully arrested him, so even though your father managed to get him acquitted of casting the Dark Mark, they tried to say he was no longer safe, now that he was not teaching at Hogwarts and no longer had access to the Wolfsbane. So your father and I had to explain that he was safe with us, even without the Wolfsbane Potion, since the Ministry doesn’t know we brew it. Then they insisted on proving everything we said true.”

Harry stared down at his cup of tea. “Uncle Remus told me to stay inside, at school, and I didn’t listen. I went to see Hagrid anyway, and he came after us. If he hadn’t done that, he would’ve taken his Wolfsbane Potion, and he wouldn’t have quit his job.”

“Harry,” James said very slowly, “you can’t blame yourself for things outside your control.”

“But--”

“Listen: what happened that night--Barty escaping, Remus losing his wand, the dementors nearly killing Sirius--none of that is your fault, anymore than what happened at the Cup is my fault. I had no control over the Dark wizards creating a mob, no way to know that Remus would end up Stunned in the forest in the same place someone cast the Dark Mark. Sometimes bad things happen, and we can’t always blame our decisions.”

Lily laced her fingers between James’s and pulled the back of his hand to her mouth. She kissed it, leaving behind a faint splotch of pink lipstick. “I’m sorry,” she said into his shoulder. “I was upset and I wanted to blame someone.”

James leaned over to kiss her lips. Nothing too intimate, nothing to make Harry uncomfortable, just a simple, innocent peck. “I love you. And I appreciate everything you did for Remus tonight, even if I did complain about it. And you put up with Sirius like a saint.”

Lily laughed a little and leaned her head against his shoulder. “When you proposed, you said Sirius came with the marriage, and there was nothing you could do about it. I knew what I was getting into when I said yes.”

James laughed a little, too, and Harry finally started to feel like everything in the world was on its way to being right again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, headcanons, questions, and criticisms always appreciated.


	11. Aboard the Hogwarts Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry boards the train for his fourth year at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is late for no other reason than I simply forgot it was Friday. Oops.
> 
> Thank you all so much for you wonderful comments on the last chapter. I was so moved by how thoughtful you were with them, and so grateful you took my advice. This chapter feel free to read at whatever pace you like. I don't expect we'll have a chapter that was nearly so intense as the last one for a long while yet.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta ageofzero who is always ready for my new chapters, deadlines be damned.

Harry had meant to stay awake the entire night with his parents, but he must’ve fallen asleep at some point, unable to resist rest after the long, stressful day of preparation, because he woke up shortly after sunrise in his own bed.

He went downstairs without bothering to change out of yesterday’s robes. The house was eerily quiet. He saw no sign of his parents, but he knew his mother had to be in the kitchen fixing potions, or, if he’d slept through the hard part of the day, at least cleaning up. He really wasn’t sure what was needed on a day like today, a day after a full moon without the Wolfsbane Potion. Harry could barely remember a time before the Wolfsbane.

When he reached the kitchen, Lily seemed to be in the middle of brewing a potion that was currently light blue, but when she added a pinch of something fine and black, it turned red. She stirred once counter-clockwise then twice clockwise and poured the newly made potion into a glass bottle. She grabbed a full vial from the other end of the counter and turned quickly, without looking, and nearly knocked Harry over.

“Goodness--you startled me. But perfect timing; I need another set of hands.” She gave him the vial, filled with something thin and brown, and the bottle of the potion she’d just finished. “Run these up to Sirius, please. Give him a little of the small one and a lot of the red one. He’s in the room across from yours.”

“Sirius?”

“Quickly, dear.”

Even though her words were gentle, her voice was urgent. Harry took the stairs two at a time and knocked on the bedroom door before opening it. He saw Sirius lying on the bed, pressing a cloth against his shoulder. Harry hurried forward, unsure of what he was supposed to do with the potions.

“Sirius--Mum sent me--”

Sirius opened his eyes and, though he was clearly in pain, tried to give Harry a crooked smile. He pulled the cloth away from his shoulder and revealed deep gashes that spread over his chest and across his back. Harry had never thought of himself as squeamish, but his stomach turned at the sight of the wound.

“Just drip a bit over it--the vial, yeah--not too much. A few drops should do it.”

Harry did his best to keep his hand steady as he dripped the potion over Sirius’s wound. The potion hissed as it hit skin, and evaporated in green steam. But when the smoke cleared, the wounds were covered in fresh, pink skin, hastily knitted together.

“That’s the stuff,” Sirius grunted. He pushed himself into a sitting position and reached for the knot of a bandage, nearly soaked through with blood, around his calf. “One more.” Sirius pulled on the knot, but his fingers didn’t yet have the dexterity necessary to undo it.

Harry sat down and undid the knot, revealing a series of punctures arranged in a crescent--a werewolf bite. Harry dripped the potion over the wound before Sirius could bleed much more. It steamed again and Harry’s nostrils were filed with the scent of rust. He coughed into his arm and pulled away.

“Much better,” Sirius said, as the smoke cleared and his skin looked fresh. He flexed his toes, just to be sure it wouldn’t tear open on him, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He tried to stand, but promptly fell back into the mattress. He put his hands to his head and groaned. “Your mother should have one more potion for me.”

Harry handed him the red bottle. Sirius knocked it back.

“Blood-Replenishing Potion?” Harry guessed.

Sirius nodded. “Just need a minute for--”

“Excuse me,” a girl’s voice squeaked. The tiny portrait that hung beside the bed was looking at Sirius. It was of a young girl in purple robes that glittered with tiny silver stars. She couldn’t have been much older than Harry was now, but that didn’t reflect how old she really was. The ornate, gold-leafed frame suggested it was from the eighteenth century, but Harry didn’t think it was her frame. She seemed too plain for that sort of frame. Not that she was ugly--she was very beautiful, and looked a lot like his father, but there was a simplicity to her that didn’t match the frame or this bedroom. “Mister James says he needs you to go to the other room immediately,” she said to Sirius.

“I’m coming,” Sirius said. “Harry, help me.”

As Harry slipped an arm under Sirius’s shoulder, the young witch was pushed out of the frame by a much older woman in red and gold robes, laced up the front like a corset, and with dark hair in tight curls. In the way the younger girl looked like James, this woman looked like Sirius. “You’re disgraceful, Iolanthe, running around delivering messages like a common Squib. If we’d kept the house-elves--”

But Harry didn’t hear the rest of the older woman’s tirade as the door closed behind him and Sirius. Harry only knew a handful of the portraits in the house. They mostly kept to themselves, except for the few that asked him to fix his hair, or slow down, or warn him that the bannister was not for sliding.

“Great-Aunt Dorea was always charming,” Sirius said as Harry helped him down the hallway.

“She’s my great-aunt?” Harry didn’t know he had snobbish family. His father always talked about their family history like it was full of humble champions of justice. 

“Technically? Your grandfather’s cousin’s wife. You can call her Great-Aunt Dorea if you like, but there’s no Black blood in you as far as we know, thank Merlin for that.”

Harry didn’t think it would be such a bad thing to be related to Sirius, but he supposed he’d heard enough about the rest of Sirius’s family to understand why Sirius would say something like that. Though he certainly hadn’t heard enough to satisfy his own curiosity about the Black family.

When Harry pushed open the door to Remus’s room, he saw why his mother had been in such a hurry. Remus looked even worse than he had yesterday. He was still pale and thin, but now he was injured, far worse than Sirius. He was cut badly on one side. His other side was washed in purple. He had deep scratches on his neck and bite marks in his arms and legs. Harry was glad Sirius no longer needed help standing, because Harry suddenly felt dizzy.

James was dripping a potion over the tears in Remus’s neck and Lily had a vial at Remus’s lips, but he seemed unwilling or unable to drink what she was trying to give him.

Lily flicked her eyes up briefly when she saw Sirius and handed him his wand. She pointed at the large bruises on Remus’s abdomen. “Broken rib. I think it’s in his lung. I’m trying to get him to drink some dittany--”

Sirius took his wand without question and pressed it against Remus’s injury. The tip glowed white, and though Harry didn’t see any change, he guessed Remus’s ribs were repairing themselves.

Harry had always known Sirius was the best in the family at healing spells, but he’d never thought much about why. After three years of learning Transfiguration and Charms, Harry knew there was an exceptional amount of patience required to perform spells on living things, and that amount of patience didn’t really suit what Harry knew of Sirius. But now it seemed obvious that Sirius had learned the more complicated healing spells for Remus’s sake, before they’d ever known or even dreamed about the Wolfsbane Potion.

Remus started breathing normally, and Sirius moved his wand to Remus’s leg. Lily finally got him to swallow some dittany. She recapped the vial and let out a deep breath.

“Will he be alright?” Harry asked.

“Of course, dear.” She took a clean, wet cloth from a bowl at the nightstand and handed it to James, who gave her a bloody one in turn. She dropped it into the bowl, vanished it with the water, then refilled the bowl with clean water. “Come help me clean up the kitchen. Sirius and your father have this well in hand.”

Harry knew she was only trying to get him out of the way, but for once, he didn’t protest. There wasn’t anything he could do to help Remus, and he certainly didn’t want to be a hindrance.

He helped his mother clean up the mess she’d made in the kitchen. Normally his mother was organized when she brewed a potion. She never mixed her ingredients and, whether it was conscious or unconscious, often arranged them in the order she needed them. But right now the kitchen looked more like his father had opened up the Potions cabinet and tried to brew three potions at once. Harry wondered how many things his mother had needed to make last night.

He got a vague idea as she had him label and date bottles. There were several bottles of Blood-Replenishing Potion, and Harry felt a little sick at how much they had on hand. The brown potion that smoked green was essence of dittany, and the rusty smell Harry had gotten an accidental mouthful of was because Lily had added silver to it.

“I thought that doesn’t actually cure werewolf bites,” Harry said as he added the date to the bottom of the very small bottle.

“It doesn’t.” Lily took it from him and put it on the top shelf of their Potions cabinet. “But it’s very effective at closing them.”

“Sirius isn’t a werewolf now, is he?”

“No, that’s the point of being Animagi.”

“I thought the point was that Remus wouldn’t hurt him. Werewolves don’t attack animals normally.”

Lily handed him a bottle of something blue that seemed to glow faintly, and Harry labeled it “Burning Bitterroot Balm” and handed it back. 

“The small space probably agitated the werewolf, and Sirius, for that matter. But there really wasn’t anywhere else we could put them.” She put the last bottle into the Potions cabinet, surveyed its organization, and nodded in affirmation. She closed the cabinet and said, “How does breakfast sound?”

“Really good.”

Harry was a lot better at helping prepare breakfast than he was at Potions. He cracked eggs, cut potatoes and vegetables, and picked oranges from the grove in the backyard. They had a handful of Muggle trees scattered on their property, full of fruits that were expensive or difficult to get because they didn’t grow easily in the English countryside. But there were old Potter family charms for growing all sorts of plants, no matter what the climate was. Harry wondered when his father would teach him how to take care of the property, or go through all the family heirlooms in the attic. It had never really occurred to Harry to ask these questions about their family before, but now he wanted to know all of it.

By the time Harry and Lily breakfast on the table, James and Sirius had finished what they could for Remus. They looked exhausted, but the cloud of anxiety that had been hanging over the house the last two days seemed to have lifted. They’d gotten through the hard part, and everyone was alive. There was room to relax.

“Fixed the worst of it,” Sirius said as he stuffed a piece of toast in his mouth. “I’ll do a bit more tonight and tomorrow. Right now he needs rest.”

James washed out the dropper he’d used on Remus’s wounds and replaced it in the Potions cabinet. “You should get some sleep yourself.

“I’ll be alright.” Sirius massaged his injured shoulder and helped himself to a very thick, fatty slice of bacon.

“Now that Remus has safely passed the night,” Lily said, “will you please check on your brother?”

Sirius’s lip curled at the suggestion, but before he could fight Lily, James jumped in.

“It’s been a week now,” he said. “It can’t be good for anyone to be stuck in that house alone for that long. Just make sure a boggart didn’t eat him or something.”

Harry snorted into his orange juice. Boggarts didn’t eat people.

“Why don’t you bring him here?” Lily suggested. James and Sirius both looked appalled, so she quickly said, “We haven’t talked about what happened at the Cup yet, and it would be good for him to be there for that conversation. He might know something we don’t. And this way, Sirius can stay close to Remus.”

“What if the Ministry comes by to check on Remus?” James asked.

“Then we can hide Regulus in the attic.”

Sirius did not looked pleased at the prospect of having Regulus over for breakfast, but maybe the long night had had taken the edge off of his temper, or the morning tending to Remus had made him his regular human self more quickly, because he went into the fireplace without another word of retort.

Harry hadn’t seen Regulus Black since just after school had ended, when Dumbledore had introduced the Potters to him formally, and stressed that Regulus was trustworthy and would aid them in the fight against Voldemort when the time came.

After all the chaos at the Quidditch World Cup, it sounded like “when the time came” was coming too quickly. Harry was starting to worry that they wouldn’t be ready when Trelawney’s prophecy came to pass, which was sort of new for him. He was used to trusting his parents to make everything right. Now he wondered if there was finally something too big for his family to face.

Sirius returned shortly, face sulky. He sat down to breakfast and continued eating without any comment. Regulus was close behind him, but he stayed standing in the dining room doorway until Lily invited him to sit.

As he had been the first time he met Regulus Black, Harry was struck by how simultaneously similar and contrary the Black brothers were. They were nearly identical in appearance, with long dark hair and high cheekbones; pale not from illness or lack of sunlight, but simply by nature. The only difference in their physique was that Regulus was slightly slimmer, but no shorter.

They way they behaved, however, was so painfully different that no one could ever mistake one for the other. Even now, Sirius slouched in his chair and ate with little evidence that he’d been raised in a home with refined manners, while Regulus sat perfectly straight and looked less like he was at a small breakfast and more like he was at dinner with the Minister. He ate with small bites and politely thanked Lily and James for having him.

“I read what happened in the paper,” he said. “Is Lupin alright?”

Sirius rolled his eyes and tipped his chair onto its back legs. “What do you care?”

“Remus is fine,” Lily said. “He’s upstairs resting.” She shot Sirius a very stern glare. “It’s polite of you to be concerned.”

The criticism seemed to wash right over Sirius, because his sour expression didn’t change.

James disappeared into the kitchen briefly and came back with tea for everyone. “Hope you don’t mind it’s a little strong,” he said as he passed a cup to Regulus.

“Thank you,” Regulus said, and took the cup. “They weren’t very kind to you in the paper, it seemed, either. They seemed to imply you were the one arrested for casting the Dark Mark, and Lupin was arrested on charges of being unsafe.”

James shrugged his shoulders. “The _Prophet_ can say what they like about me. I could care less. I’m more surprised they didn’t try to pin it on you, to be honest.”

Regulus’s expression didn’t change. Harry couldn’t begin to tell what he was thinking, whereas Sirius’s annoyance was so blunt, it began to grate even on James.

“Sirius,” James said, and flicked his wand so that Sirius’s chair returned to being flat on the floor, “what happened at the Cup? Do you know who cast the Dark Mark? Remus said he didn’t get a good look but did you see anything?”

Sirius took a bite of potatoes and said, “It was Barty Crouch.”

James groaned. “We were that close to catching him and we lost him?” 

“Are you sure?” Lily asked. “Why would Barty risk going to the Quidditch Cup just to cast the Dark Mark?” She glanced over at Harry, and he knew she was remembering his dream. Voldemort and Barty had said they would wait until after the Quidditch Cup, so why would Barty have gone there?

“I’m sure,” Sirius said, offended Lily would doubt him. “I know his scent. And I think Remus knew, too, even if he couldn’t prove it. He tried taking his wand back. Almost had it, but fought Barty again after Barty cast the Dark Mark. Guess they got switched back in the confusion.”

Regulus took a sip of his tea. “The paper said a woman died. Perhaps his true intent was to kill her. The Dark Mark may have been an afterthought.”

“But she was already dead, wasn’t she?” Harry blurted. He’d meant to be silent for the conversation. It was so rare he got to be privy to a talk like this, he hadn’t wanted to draw attention to himself for fear he would get sent away. “I just mean… in my dream, Barty Crouch had already killed her.”

James frowned. “You dreamed about Barty Crouch?” He looked at Lily, whose lips were pressed in a firm line. She was staring at Harry, very clearly avoiding eye contact with James. “You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

When Lily didn’t answer, Regulus asked, “Who was this woman?”

Harry thought Regulus must have read her name in the paper already, and he wondered if Regulus was only trying to diffuse the tension between Lily and James. Even if that wasn’t his goal, it was effective.

James ran his hand through his hair and said, “Her name was Bertha Jorkins. Assistant to Ludo Bagman. He’s head of Games and Sports, of all things. She couldn’t have knowledge of anything You-Know-Who would want.”

Lily stirred her tea. “She was always a frightful gossip. Maybe she learned something he wanted to know.”

“That seems like a big risk to go all the way to the Quidditch Cup when there was so much security there.”

“Maybe,” Sirius said, “she learned something she shouldn’t have, and You-Know-Who couldn’t risk her blabbing to anyone at the Cup.”

“But I saw Barty kill her in my dream,” Harry said. “Voldemort told him--”

“You-Know-Who was in your dream?” James said.

Harry nodded. He couldn’t quite gauge his father’s feelings. James looked a little hurt, a little angry, and a little scared. All the reasons Harry hadn’t wanted to tell his father about his dream in the first place.

Regulus took a sip of his tea. “Harry, could you tell us everything you remember from your dream?”

“It isn’t much,” Harry said. “Voldemort and Barty Crouch were in a house. They were planning something, something that involved… me…. But Voldemort said to wait until after the Cup. Then Voldemort told Barty to kill Bertha Jorkins, only I didn’t know it was Bertha Jorkins then, but I recognized her when I saw her at the Cup. And I… I had a second dream.” Harry looked at his parents, hoping they weren’t upset with him for keeping it from them. “They needed someone else, but I don’t know what for. Something to fix a mistake Barty Crouch made, I think.”

James and Lily were quiet. They looked concerned, which Harry hoped meant they weren’t terrified. But he noticed they each only had one hand on the table. He wondered if beneath the table they were holding their wands or holding each other’s hand.

Sirius tapped his fingers against the table. He looked furious and thoughtful at the same time. Regulus, however, was entirely unreadable. His face hadn’t changed at all since his polite gratitude to Lily for breakfast. He sipped at his tea and Harry started to feel anxious, wondering what in the world Regulus thought of his nightmare. Was he scared, angry, or even pleased? Harry was beginning to get an idea of at least one reason why Sirius and Regulus didn’t get along. 

Regulus looked at Lily and James. “Have you written to Dumbledore?”

“This is the first I’m hearing of this.” There was a note of deserved bitterness in James’s voice.

“We’ll be sure to do that today.” Lily reached for James’s hand and turned it to check the watch on his wrist. “It’s about time to give Remus a new dose of potions.”

Sirius stood. “I’ll help.”

Regulus Black watched the two of them disappear into the kitchen. “This seems like quite a bit of trouble for you all, and expensive. Why doesn’t Lupin simply go to St. Mungo’s?”

James shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in his chair. “Remus hates hospitals. And I don’t blame him.”

Harry wondered if it was a satisfactory answer for Regulus, but there was absolutely no way to tell if he understood James’s answer, or if he still thought the stress ought to be easily resolved by handing the problem to someone else.

Sirius followed Lily back through the dining room, but James caught his wrist as he passed.

“Hey--stay you today, alright? We’re all tired, stressed, and you need to be as clear-headed as possible tonight.”

“I have no intention of disappearing Remus’s bones accidentally,” Sirius said, and followed Lily upstairs.

Harry couldn’t resist laughing, and even James grinned and shook his head. If Sirius was making jokes, even though Regulus was here and Remus was hurt, that was a really good sign.

Regulus finished his tea and set the cup down without clinking any of the china. “You let Sirius perform the required medical spells?”

“He’s the best of us at them,” James said, and began to clear the dishes from the table.

As Regulus stared at James, who was picking up dishes with his hands and carrying them to the kitchen, wand abandoned on the table, Harry figured that this sort of staring and watching was Regulus’s version of curiosity. He realized his family must seem very odd to Regulus Black, if the Black family were anything like the Malfoys. And if Regulus had grown up thinking his brother was a troublemaker, he would be surprised to know that Sirius was one of the more talented spell-casters in the family.

Family was an odd word, Harry thought.

He’d always counted Sirius and Remus when he said “family.” There were a handful of times he’d even used the word “parents” and meant James, Lily, Sirius, and Remus. But Regulus Black was Sirius’s family, and yet that didn’t count somehow, at least it hadn’t counted to Sirius a year ago. Harry wondered if it counted now, or if Sirius would still say that James Potter was his only brother.

Lily came back downstairs with a handful of empty bottles and without Sirius.

“Did you lose him?” James asked as he replaced the now clean breakfast dishes in the china cabinet.

She laughed. “I convinced him to take a nap. I put bedding on the floor of Remus’s room for him.”

James kissed her cheek. “I’m owling the Pope to canonize you tomorrow.”

“Almost a perfect Muggle joke. The Pope doesn’t take owls, I’m afraid.”

“I’m getting better at them, though, aren’t I?” James took the empty potions bottles from her and carried them to the kitchen.

“After fifteen years of marriage, I would hope you’d improved.” Lily picked up her abandoned cup of tea, still smiling after James. Harry felt relieved to see his family back to normal. It was good to know his parents could have such a terrible fight, but apologize and be their usual selves the next day.

“You’re welcome to stay,” Lily said to Regulus. “I’m afraid I won’t be the best hostess; it will be a rather quiet day with naps and a lot of laundry, but we really don’t mind if you’re here.”

“Thank you,” Regulus said, and Harry was proud of himself for detecting the curiosity in it. “I don’t want to be in your way--”

“You won’t be,” Lily promised him. “Harry can get you tea or anything you might like. I’ll be in the back, getting blood out of sheets, and James will be doing the mending.” She gave Harry a hug before leaving the dining room. Harry listened to the bit of banging as she got the washbin out of the cupboard and the sound of the back door closing behind her.

“Does your mother always do the wash?” Regulus asked. “Or is it just because of the full moon last night?”

“Well, sometimes Dad does it,” Harry said.

Regulus was staring in the direction Lily had gone, and Harry wondered if maybe he’d misinterpreted Regulus’s expression as curious, or if Regulus’s mood had changed and Harry hadn’t noticed. This guessing game was really difficult.

“You don’t have house-elves?” Regulus asked.

“No. Dad said we used to, but they left when we went into hiding, during the war.” Harry watched closely to see if Regulus’s expression would change at all, but it didn’t. Was Regulus judging his family for not having house-elves? Was Regulus just surprised to watch someone do household chores?

James came through, nodded at Regulus, then followed Lily’s path out to the back of the house.

“Can I ask you a question?” Harry said.

“I don’t see why not.”

“How did you betray Voldemort? You said he almost killed you, but you never said what you did.”

There was the faintest change in Regulus’s face, a thin line between his eyebrows, and his lips pinched tighter together. He was looking at Harry, but Harry had seen enough people look at him this way to know that Regulus was really looking at Harry’s scar.

“The Dark Lord asked something of me I couldn’t go through with. He asked me to kill Sirius, and I couldn’t comply. He tried to kill me, and I barely escaped with my life.”

Harry knew, without really having a reason for knowing, that Regulus had just lied to him. He’d never watched an adult flat-out lie before. Sirius gave cryptic half-answers, his parents told him they’d answer his questions at another time, and Remus was always honest, and if he couldn’t answer something directly, told Harry to ask someone else. But they’d never lied to him, not like this. Harry didn’t know what to do about it.

He decided to ask Remus for help later. Anyone else would be offended on Harry’s behalf, but Remus would be reasonable about it.

For now, he got himself and Regulus more tea. There wasn’t much conversation to be had, because Harry didn’t know what you said to someone who had spent the last twelve years in Azkaban, and he was afraid to ask Regulus anything else, in case Regulus continued to lie.

Then Regulus asked about the Quidditch World Cup--the actual game, not the chaos afterwards--and Harry recounted the game like he would have for his mother. He skimmed over the events and avoided the technical terms, until Regulus mentioned he’d played as a Seeker while he was at Hogwarts. After that, Harry was able to be a bit more free with his terminology, and a bit more comfortable around Regulus. At least Quidditch was something they could talk openly about, without worrying about honesty.

Regulus stayed through lunch, and left after tea. He thanked James and Lily politely for their hospitality, and thanked Harry for the pleasant conversation. He asked them to give Remus his best, and to tell Sirius not to worry about him, to focus on taking care of Remus. Harry thought that was exactly what Sirius planned to do anyway, and they all knew it. It seemed Regulus only said those things in an effort to be polite. 

At dinner, Harry nearly fell asleep into his plate. He decided he’d had a long enough day and turned in early, even though the sun was still up. As he climbed the stairs to go to bed, Sirius was on his way downstairs. They didn’t say anything, but Sirius smiled at him and ruffled his hair as they passed each other. 

Harry fell asleep, and it felt good to finally have a night of sleep where he wasn’t worried about his parents, Remus, or Sirius. He was still afraid of nightmares, and worried about why Regulus had lied to him, but those things now seemed small in comparison to the confidence he had in his family.

\--- --- ---

The morning of September first, Harry woke early and double-checked his trunk against his packing list. He’d left the dress robes out, unable to convince himself he really needed them, but now he tucked them at the bottom. He fed Hedwig a treat and put her in her cage, and he strapped his Firebolt to the top of his trunk. There was only one thing missing.

His parents had borrowed the Invisibility Cloak last week to hide some of their illicit potions supplies. Lily had not been happy that he had it at all, and Harry hadn’t had the chance to talk to his parents about getting it back. He didn’t even know if they’d talked about it with each other.

He dressed and went downstairs, thinking at the least he could ask. It wasn’t like the existence of the Cloak was a secret to anyone in their family. The worst that could happen would be that his mother would say no, and he would get the Cloak back when he turned seventeen.

Harry paused at his parents’ bedroom door, listening to see if they were awake. He heard movement, and was about to knock when he heard his mother say, “Of course Dumbledore said not to worry. He always says that, but I am worried.”

Harry held his breath.

“Dumbledore would tell us if something were wrong,” James said. “We’ve known about this connection for years. We shouldn’t be surprised.”

It sounded like Lily might be sobbing. “Why does it have to happen now? James--it can’t happen yet.”

“If we just told Harry--”

“If we tell Harry, he’ll go looking for him. You know he will.”

“Harry’s smarter than that.”

“Were you, when you were fourteen? I know I wasn’t.”

“Lily….”

Harry waited, but they didn’t say anything more that he could hear. Harry knew there were a lot of things his parents kept from him--things about the war, things about his scar--but this sounded incredibly specific. A certain secret he was not privy to. He couldn’t even begin to wonder what it might be. He didn’t know what it was connected to. He did decide that if it had his mother in tears, he could wait to ask about it, and he could wait to ask about his Cloak.

Harry got himself a cup of tea and toast, and then his mother appeared to make a proper send-off breakfast. She seemed perfectly happy as she cooked, and Harry saw no sign of worry in her. He wondered how many other times his mother had been brought to tears and he’d never known because she was a wonderful liar, but of a different sort than Regulus Black.

Before they all sat down to breakfast, Harry took a plate up to Remus, who was still bedridden, though doing much better. He had color to him, finally, and he no longer needed Blood-Replenishing Potion or any healing spells from Sirius. It was only aches, which were repaired by time and rest. He was expected to be out of bed tomorrow.

Remus wished Harry good luck at school and reminded him to write. Harry assured him that he would, then said his goodbyes to Sirius. Before he knew it, it was after ten and they were risking being late for the Hogwarts Express. He hadn’t even had a minute to ask for the Cloak.

As James got his trunk from upstairs and Lily pulled their cloaks from the front closet, Harry decided just to write his father and ask for it, rather than pull his mother into the discussion. If she had a problem with him taking the Invisibility Cloak, she could talk to James about it.

James and Lily Apparated Harry and his things to London, and Harry was glad his mother had grabbed their cloaks because it was drizzling in the city. Together, they braved the light rain and went to King’s Cross station, where they crossed the barrier between platforms nine and ten. It was crowded, as usual, especially with the train nearly ready to depart. But there were a few extra wizards standing around that Harry knew weren’t parents of students. Their faces were grim and they walked up and down the platform, eyes passing over the crowd like they were looking through them rather than at them.

“Looks like the Ministry’s taking Rita Skeeter’s lax security criticism seriously,” Lily said in a low murmur as they started towards the back of the train. They were almost halfway there when one of the Aurors tumbled over Harry’s cart and fell right into Lily.

“Whoops--Sorry, Mrs. Potter,” Nymphadora Tonks said, and straightened her robes as she stood.

“Just Lily now, please,” Lily laughed. “Look at you, finished with Auror training and everything. You’re plenty old enough to call me by my first name.”

“How are you, Nymphadora?” James asked.

“Tonks, please,” she said. “And good. Bet you’re excited for Hogwarts this year, eh, Harry?”

“Should I be?” Harry raised an eyebrow and surveyed his parents secretive smiles. This secret must’ve been wholly different than the one they’d whispered about this morning, because they looked genuinely pleased with something.

Tonks’s hair went bright orange. “Forgot it’s still a secret. Sorry, Harry, you’ll find out soon.”

“Why can’t you just tell me? You’ve almost told me like three times now.”

“We don’t want to spoil it,” Lily said. “Let’s get your things loaded. Same compartment as usual?”

Harry’s parents helped him get his trunk and Hedwig into the last compartment of the train and they said their goodbyes. They gave him a couple galleons for the candy trolley, made him promise to be safe, not to break any rules, and Harry assured them he would be on his best behavior. He had no plans on getting a detention this year, Malfoy or not. His family had been through enough trouble these last few weeks and he wasn’t about to add to it.

After Harry’s parents left, he wasn’t alone for very long. He heard Ron’s voice down the corridor, “My own mother knows and won’t say anything. Wonder what--” He stopped when he saw Harry and grinned. “Hi, Harry. Have a good last week of summer?”

Harry smiled back and helped Ron put Pigwidgeon’s cage up top. Ron had covered it in an old shawl, which Harry thought a good idea. Pigwidgeon’s energy was a bit much for a lengthy train ride. “It was alright. You two have a good time?”

Hermione took a seat across from Harry. “Yes. We missed you though. How is your family?”

“They’re good. It was, uh, stressful, but everyone’s good now.” Harry found it odd how even though Ron and Hermione were familiar with Remus’s condition as a werewolf and what that meant, he still didn’t have the words to describe it.

“Dad said the Ministry still has no idea who did it,” Ron said, “and Fudge is real anxious to pin it on someone.”

“Sirius said it was Barty Crouch.”

“That slimy--”

Hermione shushed Ron suddenly and put her finger to her lips. She pointed to the compartment behind her, and when Harry listened, he heard an annoyingly familiar drawl.

“... Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore--the man’s such a Mudblood-lover--and Durmstrang doesn’t admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn’t like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do….”

Hermione slid their compartment door closed as quietly as she could. Harry was proud of her restraint--he would have slammed it shut. But then Malfoy would’ve known where they were sitting, and that would’ve been more annoying.

“I wish he had gone to Durmstrang.” Hermione sat back down and folded her arms over her chest. “Then we wouldn’t have to put up with him.”

“That’s another wizarding school, right?” Harry asked. “Where is it?”

“Well, nobody knows, of course,” Hermione said, “but it must be somewhere cold. Probably pretty far north. Their uniforms are fur cloaks.”

Ron got a daydreamy look in his eyes. “Think of the possibilities. It would’ve been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident…. Shame his mother likes him.”

Harry was inclined to agree. He tried to imagine a Hogwarts without Malfoy, and it was a pleasant picture, seeing how at least half of his detentions were from fights with Draco Malfoy.

As the train pushed north, the rain got heavier. It had rained last September first, when they’d been boarded by dementors. He shivered at the memory, and when the candy trolley came around, bought Cauldron Cakes to share and a steaming cup of hot cocoa.

Their friends in Gryffindor came by, chatting excitedly about the Quidditch World Cup. Dean recounted Krum’s incredible playing for Neville Longbottom, who had been unable to attend, while Seamus praised Troy’s incredible skill as a Chaser.

“It sounds like it was fun,” Neville said. “I wanted to go, but Mum and Dad had to work for the Ministry, so I had to stay with Gran, and she and Dad both think Quidditch is too dangerous.”

“But that’s half the fun!” Seamus protested.

Ron showed Neville his miniature figure of Viktor Krum. It walked around his palm and scowled up at Ron and Neville.

“Wow,” Neville breathed as Ron tipped the figure into Neville’s hand.

“We saw him right up close, as well. We were in the Top Box--”

“For the first and last time in your life, Weasley,” interrupted Draco Malfoy.

Harry looked up to see Malfoy in the doorway, flanked by his large cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. “I don’t remember asking you to join us, Malfoy.”

Malfoy ignored Harry and pointed at Pigwidgeon’s cage. “What is that?” Before Ron could stop him, Malfoy had seized a bit of lace and yanked the shawl down. Except it wasn’t a shawl at all.

“Look at this!” Malfoy said, holding up what were in fact very old dress robes, trimmed in a lot of lace. “Weasley, you weren’t thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean--they were very fashionable in about eighteen-ninety….”

“Eat hippogriff dung, Malfoy,” Ron snapped and grabbed his dress robes.

“So… going to enter, Weasley? Going to try to bring a bit of glory to the family name? There’s money involved as well, you know… you’d be able to afford some decent robes if you won…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you going to enter?” he repeated, like he was talking to a child. “I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?” But Harry, Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean, and Neville were all staring blankly at Malfoy. They clearly weren’t privy to whatever he was going on about.

“You mean you don’t know? You’ve got a father and a brother at the Ministry and you don’t even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago. Heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father’s always associated with top people at the Ministry. Maybe your father’s just too junior to know about it, Weasley--”

“Hey, Malfoy,” came a voice from farther down the corridor. “Quit harassing students or I’ll be taking points from you before the year even starts.”

“We were just leaving,” Malfoy said back. His smug smile said he’d gotten all he needed out of his foray into the Gryffindors’ compartment.

Harry expected a Gryffindor Prefect, but instead it was Cedric Diggory who stopped in their doorway.

“Is everyone alright in here?” he asked, looking over each one, as if checking for signs of hexing or fighting.

“We’re fine,” Harry said, voice colder than he meant it to be.

Cedric stared at Harry, like he was debating something. He made his decision and let out a slow breath. “I’m sorry, Harry. I heard about what happened at the Cup and the Ministry. Professor Lupin was one of the best teachers we had; he didn’t deserve any of that.”

“You’re not the one who owes Uncle Remus an apology,” though it made Harry feel marginally better to hear Cedric say it.

“Dad thinks he was just doing his job. He doesn’t understand. But I just want you and Lupin to know that I get it, and I am sorry. Could you tell him for me?”

Harry shrugged. “I could. Or you could write him.”

The idea seemed to startle Cedric. Before he could protest, Hermione said, “Mr. Lupin would probably really like to hear from you. He has written his students on occasion.”

The tips of Cedric’s ears seemed pink. “Oh. I guess I’ll do that.”

“What’s he got to be embarrassed about?” Ron asked after Cedric left. He had his arms folded over his chest and his feet planted on the opposite bench, right between Dean and Harry.

“Cedric’s just shy,” Hermione said.

Ron snorted. “Him? He’s a Prefect, Quidditch star, only child, supposedly good-looking, and his dad’s got a good job at the Ministry. What’s he got to be shy about?”

Harry didn’t think shyness had much to do with any of those things, but Ron didn’t seem like he was in the mood to be reasoned with. And Harry didn’t really blame him. Malfoy was vicious when it came to insults, and Harry hadn’t missed Ron’s sensitivity about money the few times he’d stayed over at the Burrow. Harry had never found anything wrong with Ron’s home. He’d loved it, really, with its chaos and closeness, but Ron had always been so embarrassed by it. He supposed old, hand-me-down dress robes were just one more in a series of things Ron felt ashamed of. Harry knew Ron would never let Harry buy him new robes, but he wondered if he could ask his dad if there was anything slightly more fashionable and less lacy in his great-great-grandmother’s trunk.


	12. The Triwizard Tournament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and friends (and others) enjoy the welcome feast at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this week. Which is for the best because I don't have Internet so I have to post via mobile. Special thanks to my beta, ageofzero, for listening to me talk about chapters they won't get to read for years to come.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I can’t believe you kept the Triwizard Tournament a secret! How long have you known? It’s going to be really exciting, but why do they have to cancel Quidditch for it? I’ll have to wait another year to show Malfoy up on my Firebolt.

They should have both. It’s not like I’ll be able to participate in the tournament, since Dumbledore said the champions have to be seventeen. What’s the point in having a school competition when you can only compete if you’re of-age? Fred and George are pretty keen on the prize money and think they can figure out a way to put their names in anyway. I guess they’re almost old enough, but the tournament sounds like it’ll be difficult. It would be cool to win, though.

You didn’t tell me Mr. Moody would be our Defense teacher. He’s always seemed a little weird, but he knows his stuff, right? Ron said he trained his Uncles Fabian and Gideon. He’s been an Auror for a really long time. I heard one of the seventh-years say they’re excited he’ll be teaching, because it’s almost like having Mum as a professor again. Don’t they know that Uncle Remus fought Voldemort during the war, too?

Still, I’m excited for class. Scared, but excited.

Is Uncle Remus doing better? Cedric Diggory came and apologized to me for what his dad did, and asked me to pass the message on to Uncle Remus. I don’t feel like I should, and I asked him to tell Uncle Remus himself, but I don’t know if he will, so you can pass it on to Uncle Remus if you want.

Diggory did tell off Malfoy for us, so I guess he’s alright.

Love,  
Harry

\--- --- ---

Dear Snitch,

The Triwizard Tournament will still be fun. I promise you’ll enjoy yourself. Your Mum and I are trying to get tickets to at least one of the events, but as there hasn’t been a Triwizard Tournament in many years, the tickets are hard to come by. I may have to hit up Ludo Bagman personally.

It will be weird not to get to see you at Quidditch matches, but there’s always next year to show up Malfoy. Just don’t break your Firebolt doing anything reckless.

Remus is doing well. He came downstairs for breakfast yesterday and napped through lunch. He said Cedric Diggory wrote him a very polite letter that he got this morning, and he would like me to remind you not to hold a grudge against Cedric for something his father had a hand in.

Your mother also sends her love. She’s spending a day with her sister to make up for the visit that got cut short, which is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for to send you back your Cloak

Your mother didn’t know about the Invisibility Cloak until after we were married. When she realized how much trouble I got into with it, she insisted I wait to give it to you until you were seventeen. I don’t want to deprive you of all Hogwarts’ secrets, so I decided to give it to you in your first year. Remus told me you got your hands on a certain map as well, and as soon as we have time at home without your mother, I would love to talk to you about everything. But I’m afraid we’ll just have to wait to have that conversation.

For now, have fun, be safe, and stay out of trouble.

Love,  
Dad

\--- --- ---

Dear Mr. Lupin,

I hope you are doing well. Harry said you were, but we were all worried after the Cup.

I had a question for you about house-elves. My parents are Muggles, so they wouldn’t really understand, and all the books I’ve read don’t seem to have the answers I’m looking for, so I hope you can help me, or perhaps direct me to someone who can.

Do house-elves have labor rights? I found out today that Hogwarts is staffed by house-elves, but I can’t find any evidence that they receive compensation for their labor, or get holidays. I’ve also found no evidence that there has ever been any movement for house-elf rights. We learn about Goblin uprisings all the time in History of Magic, but house-elves aren’t even mentioned. Why hasn’t anyone done anything about it?

Sincerely,  
Hermione Granger.

\--- --- --

Dear Hermione,

There are a lot of answers to your question.

To start with, house-elves are, by the Ministry, considered Beings, and their ability to perform magic is acknowledged, however they are forbidden from having wands. The magic of house-elves is the same magic that creates the contracts that bind them to their families. The origin of these contracts is unclear, but it is obvious they extend for generations, into the indefinite future. Perhaps they were, at one time, mutual, and it is possible that many remain mutual. Unfortunately, if the case does arise where the contract is no longer mutual, the power to break the contract rests solely with the wizard. This has certainly led to an abuse of house-elves by their families.

The Ministry of Magic has attempted to combat this abuse by creating the guidelines on house-elf welfare. However, these guidelines are not well-enforced. These guidelines also do not include the things you described as labor rights. Rather, they focus on taking care of the elves, such as providing them with appropriate food and shelter, and advising appropriate punishments for disobedience that are neither cruel nor unusual. It mentions nothing of pay or holidays.

As to why nothing has been done about this, it is easy to answer that because the status quo is in the favor of wizards, few wizards have ever attempted to change it. But it is also true that house-elves have never requested such labor rights. They are not the only sentient magical creatures to exhibit a disinterest in equality with wizards. Leprechauns, for example, are sentient, but are classified as Beasts by the Ministry, and have never petitioned to change it. Centaurs, however, and Goblins, are notorious for their conflicts with the Ministry in their quest for equal treatment.

Whether house-elves have not sought equal treatment because of their nature or a lack of education is unclear to me. I’m afraid I can’t give you a direct answer on that front. However, I can assure you that Hogwarts more than complies with the guidelines on house-elf welfare. I’ve visited the kitchens several times as both student and professor, and I assure you that the house-elves are well-fed, rested, and cared for. 

I hope my answer, though only marginally comprehensive, satisfies your question. Please feel free to write any time. It is always nice to hear from former students.

Sincerely,  
Remus Lupin

\--- --- ---

MUM! HOGWARTS IS GREAT! I GOT INTO GRYFFINDOR! DO YOU KNOW WHO ELSE IS IN GRYFFINDOR? HARRY POTTER! THE ONE WHO DEFEATED YOU-KNOW-WHO AND SAVED THE WORLD! ALSO COLIN IS IN GRYFFINDOR! BUT WE ARE IN DIFFERENT DORMS! MY ROOMMATES ARE REALLY COOL! ONE HAS A RABBIT THAT ATE MY SOCKS SO I NEED NEW ONES! AND I FELL IN THE LAKE BUT IT’S OKAY! THE GIANT SQUID PULLED ME OUT! DID YOU KNOW THERE WAS A GIANT SQUID? I DIDN’T! BYE, MUM! I LOVE YOU!

\--- --- ---

Dear Dennis,

While your father and I love hearing your voice, please don’t send such noisy letters. They spit in the eggs and leave ash on the toast.

We are so proud of you for being with your brother in Griffin-door. You’re going to have so much fun together. Your father thinks you should catch the giant squid for him. I think we will probably not have room for it in the tub.

Best of love to you and your brother,  
Mum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, headcanoned, questions, and critiques all welcomed! I love to hear your thoughts.


	13. Mad-Eye Moody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's first day of classes begins, and he can't seem to stay out of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta, ageofzero, who does amazing work even though I don't pay them. Though I would if I could.
> 
> Also, sidenote, I did the math, and if I keep up one chapter a week through the end of Deathly Hallows, there are 91 more weeks, which is about 1.7 years. The end of this series is both so far away and yet coming way too fast for me.

The school was still buzzing with excitement about the Triwizard Tournament when Harry, Ron, and Hermione went downstairs for breakfast on the first day of classes. Fortunately the rain had let up and the skies were just gloomy, because as Ron and Harry browsed their schedule, they found they had the morning entirely outdoors.

“Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures,” Ron said. “That’s a good start.”

“And then Double Divination,” Harry pointed out.

Ron stuffed a bite of potatoes into his mouth. “What’re the odds Care of Magical Creatures will off us before we can get to Trelawney’s class?” 

Hermione, shockingly, had her nose in a book, but she must’ve been listening to them. “You should’ve dropped it like I did.”

“And what, taken Ancient Runes?” Ron swallowed. “No thanks.”

Post arrived, and the Great Hall flooded with owls. Neville, a few seats away, had three packages dropped into his lap. Neville opened the first one and pulled out a winter cloak. That wasn’t surprising; Neville frequently forgot to pack things. Even little Dennis Creevey, one of the new Gryffindors, had a package of socks dropped in his lap. Malfoy’s eagle owl swooped dangerously low over Harry’s head before flying towards the Slytherin table and delivering a package of sweets.

“And after all the times Malfoy mocked me for having my mum as a teacher,” Harry said.

Then Hedwig landed next to him, bearing a letter and a package. Harry recognized his father’s handwriting and tried not to get too excited. He read the letter quickly and tucked the package into his bag without opening it.

Only Ron and Hermione knew about the Invisibility Cloak, and Harry had no intention of letting anyone else in on that secret. The last thing he needed was for the knowledge of the Cloak to work its way to McGonagall. She’d take it away for sure. Though Harry suspected Dumbledore already knew about the Cloak, because when he was eleven, and he’d accidentally left it in the Astronomy Tower, it had mysteriously made its way back to his pillow.

Hermione got a letter as well, and it was almost three pages of parchment long. Harry knew it couldn’t be from her parents, because they were Muggles who would have written on regular paper, like his Mum sometimes did. Hermione abandoned her book to read the letter closely. She didn’t look too pleased with its contents, and when she set it down, Harry glanced at it. He caught Remus Lupin’s familiar signature at the end.

“Homework questions already?” Harry asked. He, too, often wrote to Remus for homework help, particularly with Defense Against the Dark Arts, and always got back far more information than he needed.

“No, it’s not homework.” But that was all the explanation Hermione offered, and tucked the letter into her book. “We should go. Professor Sprout will take points if we’re late.”

As far as first-day classes went, Herbology wasn’t the most thrilling, but Herbology practical days tended to be a little disgusting. Once they’d repotted Mandrakes, which had roots that looked like wrinkly babies and had screamed like wrinkly babies, too. Today, Professor Sprout had them squeezing bubotubers, which reminded Harry of fat slugs, except they were covered in spots and the students had to squeeze open these spots and squirt the pus into bottles.

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil spent the period making a lot of high-pitched squeals as they squeezed the bubotubers. Even Seamus looked a little green and buried his face into his shoulder and squeezed his eyes closed when the pus popped.

“Look at what you’re doing, Mr. Finnigan,” Professor Sprout scolded. “This pus can have very adverse side effects on the skin when undiluted.”

Harry made sure to secure his dragonhide gloves before starting on the next bubotuber pod.

After Herbology, when they’d given Professor Sprout several bottles full of pus, the Gryffindors trooped down to Care of Magical Creatures, except for Sally-Anne and Sophie, who had Muggle Studies. Last year Hermione had doubled up on all of her electives, but then she’d dropped Divination and Muggle Studies. Harry thought twelve classes was too much for anyone, even Hermione, so now her schedule was significantly lighter, and she had more time to help Harry and Ron with their studies.

Harry liked Care of Magical Creatures, partially because he did genuinely enjoy being outdoors, but also because their teacher was Hagrid, whom Harry liked quite a bit. Hagrid always had something interesting for them, though it was most likely to be dangerous. That, and that they shared Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins, were the only drawbacks to the course.

This year was the same as before. Hagrid introduced them to something called “Blast-Ended Skrewts.” Harry thought they were well-suited to their name. He didn’t know what a “Skrewt” was, but it certainly sounded like a good name for a slug-shaped centipede covered in armored shells. And, of course, it had a blast end that served as both a weapon and a forward propulsion.

Hagrid distributed boxes of the Blast-Ended Skrewts between the students. “Yeh’ll be raisin’ them this year as part of your project, so let’s start with feedin’. I’ve never had ‘em before, not sure what they’ll go fer--I got ant eggs an’ frog livers an’ a bit o’ grass snake--just try ‘em out with a bit of each.”

Harry wasn’t sure if frog liver or bubotuber pus was worse. At least with the bubotubers they got to wear gloves.

“Ouch!” Dean Thomas said, pulling his hand out of the box, ant eggs left behind and untouched. “It took off and it got me.”

Hagrid looked over the small burn on Dean’s hand. “Yeah, that can happen when they take off. Be careful. ‘M’sure I’ve got a salve for that--”

“Eurgh--what’s that pointy thing?” Lavender Brown pointed at one of the Skrewts in her box.

“Ah, some of ‘em have got stings. The females’ve got sorta sucker things on their bellies…. I think they might be ter suck blood.”

Harry would have very much liked to know what the point of raising Blast-Ended Skrewts was, but he had no desire to embarrass Hagrid in front of the Slytherin students. Draco Malfoy would take any chance he could to make Hagrid lose his job. He’d nearly done so last year, after an accident with a hippogriff. Harry and Hermione had managed to save Buckbeak from being executed, though Harry wasn’t sure what Regulus Black had done with Buckbeak now that he was living with Sirius. Surely Buckbeak was safe somewhere.

At the end of class, Harry was ready for lunch, but still not quite ready for Divination, especially not for two periods. He found himself wishing he could have dropped Divination like Hermione had, but then again, she had Arithmancy now and that was not a subject Harry had any interest in either.

Divination was at the top of one of Hogwarts’ towers, and Professor Trelawney rarely came down from it to socialize with the other teachers. She kept her classroom warm, even in the summer, with a roaring fire and a handful of dim candles as the only source of light. She also burned incense that clouded Harry’s ability to concentrate. It was such an easy class to doze off in, and it didn’t help that the subject matter wasn’t particularly taxing either. It was the complete opposite of Potions or Transfiguration.

When he and Ron arrived and sank into the all-too comfortable beanbag chairs she had around her circular tables instead of desks, Harry thought he might drop off instantly.

“Good day,” Professor Trelawney said, in a very misty voice, as she rose from her chair by the fire. She walked between the tables, looking over her students and adjusting the many beaded necklaces that hung from her neck. Her eyes seemed to linger on Harry, as they always had since she decided at the beginning of last year that he was destined for a young and tragic death.

“You are preoccupied, my dear,” she said to him. “My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas… most difficult… I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass… and perhaps sooner than you think….”

One of the reasons Hermione had dropped Divination was because she thought Trelawney was a fraud. She didn’t think much of the art of prophecies, or staring into a glass ball pretending to see tragedies in the future. Harry was inclined to agree with her on that, but at the end of his final exam last year, Professor Trelawney had issued a very serious prophecy, that both Dumbledore and Uncle Remus seemed to think was real and accurate. She’d prophesied Barty Crouch’s return to Voldemort, and that Voldemort would rise again with Barty Crouch’s aid. So far, about half of that prophecy had come true.

So even though Harry was pretty sure Trelawney had no idea what she was talking about when she told him the thing he was dreading would come to pass, he did feel his stomach tighten. His parents were worried about something, Regulus Black was hiding something, and his nightmares were worse than usual. How soon was it going to come to pass?

Ron rolled his eyes and nudged Harry, as if looking for solidarity in his dismissal of Trelawney’s tragic foresights. Harry gave him a lopsided grin and felt his fears melt just a little.

Professor Trelawney re-settled herself in her chair beside the fire. “My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars. The movements of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays.”

Harry fought off the incense-induced fog in his brain. The stars were the very reason he’d signed up to take Divination.

When Harry was in his first year at Hogwarts, he’d served a detention in the Forbidden Forest. There, he’d met a centaur named Firenze, who had mentioned the stars in a way that made Harry think there was a destiny set before him that could be read in the heavens. The centaur Bane had seemed to think Firenze was challenging the stars by saving Harry’s life, and Harry really wanted to know what the stars said about him, and if they had anything to do with Voldemort.

But when Trelawney set them about their work, which was filling in a very complicated circular chart with positions of the stars and planets at the time of their births, Harry was not any closer to answers.

“I’ve got two Neptunes here,” he said. “That can’t be right, can it?”

“Aaah,” Ron said in a very slow whisper, when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it’s a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry….”

Dean and Seamus laughed, but they were overrun by Lavender’s loud squeal. “Oh! Professor, look--I think I’ve got an unaspected planet. Which one’s that, Professor?”

“It is Uranus, my dear,” Professor Trelawney said.

“Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?” Ron whispered, but Professor Trelawney heard him. Not only did she take points for Ron’s inappropriate comment, but she assigned them a huge amount of homework.

“A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart,” she said, all the mistiness gone from her voice. “I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses.”

Ron grumbled about it all the way down to dinner. “That’ll take all weekend, that will.”

Harry did agree that it was a lot, but he hoped it would be at least slightly informative. He wondered if it might be worth it to go back and look at the planets on the day he’d met Firenze. He wondered what day that was. It hadn’t been a full moon….

“Hey, Potter!” Malfoy shouted as they walked into the entrance hall. He was holding an evening edition of the _Daily Prophet_ and had a wicked grin on his face.

Harry was not in the mood. “Shove off, Malfoy.”

“Don’t you know? Your parents are in the paper.” He grinned and shoved the newspaper into Harry’s hands.

**Further Mistakes at the Ministry of Magic**

_It seems as though the Ministry of Magic’s troubles are not yet at an end, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_. Recently under fire for the mysterious murder at the Quidditch World Cup and the complete lack of crowd control, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment today by their continued inability to do much of anything right. Lily Potter was arrested this morning for breaking the Statute of Secrecy and casting a series of curses in a Muggle park._

_Lily Potter is known by many as an exceptional duelist during the war more than a decade ago. Her family, however, has since been implicated in a series of crimes, ranging from Dark Magic to illegal substance cultivation. Just last week, her husband was arrested in connection with the events related to the Dark Mark, and Ministry official Aeolus Andrews, Head of the Department of Regulation and Magical Substances, personally investigated the Potter family home under suspicion of growing illegal poisons and plants not suitable for growth in Muggle-populated areas._

_Lily Potter was released, but none of the Obliviators were able to comment on why this event occurred. An inside source revealed that Barty Crouch, Jr., recent escapee from Azkaban, attacked Lily Potter in the Muggle park, but the Ministry had no comment when further pressed. They also refused to say what leads or plans they have to capture Barty Crouch, Jr. and his partner, Regulus Black._

“That’s your whole family in front of the Wizengamot in less than a year, isn’t it?” said Draco. “First your godfather, for helping his brother escape from Azkaban, then your dad, for being implicated in the Dark Mark, and your uncle for being an unsafe werewolf, and now your Mudblood mum, for--”

“ _Argentarum_!” The curse was on Harry’s lips before he even had a full grip on his wand. As such, it had about half as much effect as he’d meant. A silver spark shot from Harry’s wand and hit Malfoy in the chest, knocking him backwards. Malfoy pulled his wand out, but Harry wasn’t even listening to the raspy counter-curse. “ _Protego!_ ” he shouted, and a white shield sent Malfoy’s curse rebounding into the ceiling.

A few of the first and second years scattered for cover. Harry saw Gryffindor prefect Anne Thelborne push her way through the growing crowd towards him and Malfoy. Cedric Diggory was right on her heels.

Anne grabbed Draco Malfoy, who shot a hex at her face when she touched his arm. Cedric tried to take Harry’s arm, but Harry elbowed him, and his Blasting Curse went wild, shattering a window. The screams of a group of third year girls and boys beneath the window startled Harry enough that he lowered his wand. This got him a hex from Draco Malfoy that sent him to his knees and knocked all the air out of his lungs.

“Malfoy, don’t you dare--” Anne shouted, but there were two loud bangs in quick succession. Harry braced for the blow, but nothing happened.

There was a heavy, uneven clunking sound against the stone stairs, and Harry turned to see the crowd parting for Professor Moody, his false-leg thudding on the ground as he walked.

Cedric helped Harry to his feet, and Harry looked to see what Malfoy had done to Anne, but he didn’t see Malfoy. Instead, he saw a quivering white ferret where Malfoy had stood a moment ago. Anne Thelborne’s face was covered in fresh pimples, but she didn’t seem to notice that at all. She was staring at the ferret in horror. She pointed her wand at it, and looked about to mouth a spell, but her wand was trembling in her hand.

“Leave it,” Professor Moody roared, as he got between Harry and Malfoy. He pointed his wand at the ferret and it flew into the air. Anne choked on a scream.

“I don’t like people who attack when their opponent is down,” Moody snarled, and stopped the ferret’s fall just before it hit the ground. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do--” he said, bouncing the ferret along the floor.

“Professor Moody!” Professor McGonagall hurried down the marble staircase. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching,” Moody said.

“Teach--Moody, _is that a student?_ ” Professor McGonagall dropped her books and pulled out her wand. There was a flash of blue light and Draco Malfoy reappeared, flustered and tangled up in his robes. 

“Moody, we _never_ use transfiguration as a punishment. Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?”

“Don’t think we covered it.”

“We give detentions, or speak to the offender’s Head of House!”

“I’ll do that then,” Moody said. “Diggory, tell Professor McGonagall what’s happened. I’ll take Mr. Malfoy here to Professor Snape myself. Been looking forward to a chat with Snape.”

As Moody grabbed Malfoy’s robes and hauled him to his feet, Malfoy muttered something about telling his father.

“Oh, yeah?” Moody said, leg clinking as he pulled Malfoy down the hall. “Well I know your father of old, boy… You tell him Moody’s keeping a close eye on his son… you tell him that from me.”

Professor McGonagall waved her wand and her books sprang back into her arms. “Miss Thelborne, go see Madam Pomfrey for your face. Professor Sprout just sent up a healthy supply of Bubotuber pus, so she’ll be able to set you right. Mr. Potter, Mr. Diggory, accompany me to my office to explain this mess.”

She waved her wand again and repaired the window Harry had accidentally shattered.

Harry looked to Ron for help, but Ron was standing next to Hermione with his eyes closed. Harry heard him say as he passed, ”No, Hermione, shh--I want to fix that moment in my memory forever. Draco Malfoy, the amazing, bouncing ferret.”

Harry thought that was a fair response.

Professor McGonagall closed her office door and set her books down on her desk. “Now,” she said, arms folded over her chest, “what happened?”

“Malfoy called my mum a--a you know, because she’s Muggle-born,” Harry said quickly, before Diggory could accuse him of throwing the first spell.

McGonagall pinched her nose between her fingertips. “There are a number of more appropriate responses than hexing. Do you realize how many students you nearly hurt?”

Harry glanced down at the floor. “Yes. I--I am sorry. But Malfoy--”

“But nothing. That’s no excuse to start fights in the Hall. Detention on Saturday with me.”

Harry nodded, glumly.

“And, Mr. Diggory, are you alright?”

Harry had nearly forgotten Cedric was there. He was so quiet.

“I’m alright, Professor,” Cedric said. “I think Harry and Anne are the only ones Malfoy landed a hex on.”

“He only knocked the breath out of me,” Harry said.

“Well, I’m glad for that.” Professor McGonagall waved her wand and pile of papers ordered themselves into a neat stack. One slipped out. She caught it and handed it to Harry. “I expect your mother will have a letter for you in the morning, but she did write to say she’s quite alright, in case you had heard about what had happened.”

Harry glanced over the paper. It was a brief letter, but it was definitely in his mother’s handwriting. It didn’t say much other than she was fine and she was sorry Barty Crouch wasn’t captured.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said, and returned the letter.

“Now, off to dinner. I don’t want to hear about you hexing anyone else in the halls.”

“Yes, of course,” Harry said, and practically ran back to the Great Hall, leaving Cedric to follow at a far more reasonable pace.

“Wha’d you get off with?” Ron asked as Harry squeezed in between him and Ginny.

“Detention on Saturday.”

“She didn’t take any points?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Not a one,” Harry said, and helped himself to the roast chicken. “Er--Hermione, are you going somewhere?”

Hermione had just finished clearing her hastily eaten plate. “Got to run to the library. Loads to do.”

No sooner had she gone than she was replaced by Fred Weasley. “How cool is Moody?” Fred asked.

“Beyond cool,” George agreed as he took the seat opposite Fred.

“We had him this afternoon,” Lee Jordan said as he took the seat on the other side of Harry.

“What was it like?” Ron asked.

“Never had a lesson like it,” said Fred.

“He knows, man,” said Lee.

“Knows what?” Harry asked.

“Knows what it’s like to be out there doing it,” said George.

“It’s like having Professor Potter again,” said Lee. “Only more yelling.”

“That’s debatable,” Fred said. “Professor Potter yelled a lot.”

“Yeah, at you.”

Ron hastily pulled his schedule from his bag. “We haven’t got him until Thursday,” he groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, headcanons, questions, and criticisms always appreciated!


	14. The Unforgivable Curses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Neville may just understand each other better than they realize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a lot of fun exploring different character voices and I have so many more planned. I can't wait.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta, ageofzero, who puts up with so much for so little and I'm so glad to have them both for their commentary, suggestions, questions, and criticism.

Dear Mum,

I always forget to pack my winter cloak. Maybe next year I’ll remember. We have Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures in the morning this year, so I’m glad you sent it right away. It was very nice to have in class.

The ride on the Hogwarts Express was good this year, mostly. Ron showed me the figure of Viktor Krum he got at the Quidditch World Cup. He let me hold it and everything. It was really nice of him. But Draco Malfoy came by and made fun of Ron’s family for not having any money. I can’t understand why Draco Malfoy is so mean. Ron and Harry are some of the nicest people in the world, and I can’t imagine anyone disliking them.

At the Welcome Feast, Dumbledore announced the Triwizard Tournament! Did you know about it? I’m sure you did, and you just didn’t tell me. It was a nice surprise. I will miss cheering for Gryffindor at Quidditch matches, since they canceled those for the tournament, but maybe a Gryffindor will get chosen and I can cheer for them! Anne Thelborne is really nice and a really talented witch. I bet she could get picked, but she said she has too many responsibilities and isn’t going to put her name in. I bet her brother would have done it, if he didn’t graduate last year. Angelina Johnson thinks she’s going to put her name in. She’s very good at Quidditch, so maybe she has a chance.

In Herbology we squeezed bubotuber pus into bottles. It was really gross, but also kind of fun. I didn’t get a single drop of pus on me or anyone else! In Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid has us feeding these things called Blast-Ended Skrewts. I don’t know much about them, and they’re not in our textbook, but they seem interesting, at least, if a little dangerous. One got Dean with its blast-end. They have stingers, too, and things for sucking blood. I liked the bubotuber lesson better.

In Divination, we did star charts. I couldn’t remember what time I was born, but I don’t think Professor Trelawney will notice. She’s very scary, but she doesn’t notice a lot of my mistakes, which is really nice. Did you know that when I was born, Venus was opposite to Neptune, which means my love life is going to be a lot of fantasy, I think. I’m not sure if that is good or bad. I think Professor Trelawney would say it’s bad.

Just before dinner, Harry and Malfoy got into a duel in the hallway. I’ve never seen anyone fight like that. It was kind of scary. Malfoy called Mrs. Potter a very rude name, and Harry hexed him for it. Professor Moody came and broke it up, though. He turned Malfoy into a ferret. I felt bad for laughing, but it was very funny.

Professor Moody reminds me a lot of Mr. and Mr. Prewett. How are they? I never quite remember how we’re related to them, but I do think of them as family. They’re very nice, if a little weird. That’s how Professor Moody is. Nice, but weird. I think Professor Snape is scared of him. I feel bad for liking him more for that, but anyone who scares Professor Snape can’t be all bad.

Snape gave me a detention because I melted through another cauldron in Potions. I think this makes it six now? I can borrow Hannah’s until you can send me a new one. We have Potions on different days, so she lets me share with her when I need to. She’s very nice. I like working with her in Herbology. I know you and Dad are very busy with everything that is happening at the Ministry. I heard Mrs. Potter got attacked. Is it true? Harry said she’s alright, but it’s scary if Barty Crouch is going out and attacking people in front of Muggles. I know you and Dad can catch him soon.

Transfiguration is as hard as ever. I think I barely passed last year, and I don’t know how I’m going to make it through this year. But I’m doing much better in Charms! We have Defense Against the Dark Arts tomorrow. I’m nervous and excited. Is it okay to be both? Professor Lupin made Defense Against the Dark Arts seem so easy and manageable. I don’t know if it will be hard again this year.

Lots of love to you and Dad and Gran!

Neville

\--- --- ---

Dear Neville,

I love hearing so much about your day. I read your letter to your father, and he said you should be careful to stay out of fights. He worries about you constantly, you know. I do too, but what’s life without a little risk? You and your father could do with a little risk sometimes. 

We saw your Gran for tea yesterday. She’s doing very well, and she and I didn’t get into a single argument! Your father asked me afterwards if I was ill, but we simply didn’t disagree on anything for once. She asked after you. You know she always does. I told her you were doing well in Herbology and Charms, and that Professor Lupin left us a very nice note about your improvement in Defense Against the Dark Arts, so we expect you to do well this year, too. Not to make you feel pressured, but we know you’re capable of the absolute best.

Fabian and Gideon are coming over for dinner tonight. I’ll let them know you asked after them. They care about you a lot, and I’m sure they’ll have a lot of questions about how Mr. Moody teaches a class! They thought it was such a riot when they found out he would be a teacher. They didn’t know what Dumbledore must be thinking. I’ll admit, I was skeptical too. At the Auror office, we’ve never thought Mad-Eye very good with children, but I’m sure Dumbledore has his reasons.

None of that is to say that Professor Moody is a bad wizard. He didn’t get to be head of the Auror Department for nothing! He’s well known for his curses, in fact.

I’ll get down to Diagon Alley for a new cauldron later this week. I won’t leave you without one terribly long, but please try to be more careful in Potions. I know Professor Snape is a bit intimidating, but focus on your own work and try not to worry about him. You’re very intelligent and I know you can succeed.

Mrs. Potter is quite alright. The Ministry sent Magical Law Enforcement the minute they heard about magic in front of Muggles, and they very foolishly blamed Mrs. Potter for the whole encounter. Because they didn’t immediately notify us at the Auror office, we were too late to find Barty Crouch, Jr. It was quite a disaster, and Rufus Scrimgeour is furious with them. Lily Potter is practically an Auror herself, and they should’ve known what had happened immediately. And Rita Skeeter doesn’t make anything easier. I don’t know who her “inside source” is, but if I were to find them, I’d hex them myself.

I really shouldn’t be telling you this, dear, so please don’t repeat it, even to Harry. But you know how your father and I love to complain about work to you!

Wishing you the best, with hugs and kisses,

Love Mum and Dad

\--- --- ---

Dear Mum,

We had our first Defense Against the Dark Arts class today. It was very different from Mr. Lupin’s class, or Mrs. Potter’s. It wasn’t exactly bad, just different. I even participated.

I don’t know what else to say about it.

Mr. Moody is nice. I guess Professor Sprout told him I was good in Herbology, so he gave me a book called _Herbal Antidotes For Everyday Use_. I think it’s about putting plants in food to counter poison. I’m going to read it tonight.

Love,  
Neville

\--- --- ---

Harry walked out of Defense Against the Dark Arts feeling strangely detached from the crowd of students that filled the hallway. He’d seen the Killing Curse a handful of times, but always in his dreams, not in person. It felt strange to see the spider drop dead as if nothing had happened, knowing there was nothing that spider could do to defend itself. There was nothing any witch or wizard could do to stop the Killing Curse.

But he had survived. Because of love, Dumbledore had said. Because Peter Pettigrew had died to protect Harry and his parents, and because his parents had stood up to Voldemort much the same.

He heard Dean and Seamus whispering excitedly to each other, “--Did you see that?” “The way it just dropped--” and it made him feel a little queasy to think about what they had just seen as some sort of thrilling entertainment.

There was one other student who didn’t seem as impressed by Professor Moody’s lecture and demonstration as the rest of the class, who looked a little more like Harry felt, and that was Neville Longbottom. Harry found him standing in a side corridor, eyes on the opposite wall, like he was reliving something very strange and painful.

Harry wondered what he ought to say to Neville. He, Ron, and Hermione had learned last year that Barty Crouch, Jr. had tortured Neville’s parents with the Cruciatus Curse, which inflicted intense pain on its victims and left no visible wounds. Surely Neville was as disturbed to see it performed on a spider as Harry had been to see the curse from his own nightmares.

“Neville? Are you alright?” Hermione asked as they paused to collect their friend before heading down to dinner.

Neville looked at Hermione, Harry, and Ron--the rest of the class had gone on ahead--and looked like he was about to say he was fine. Most of the class didn’t know what had happened to Neville’s parents. But when he saw it was only Harry, Ron, and Hermione, he dropped his eyes back to the ground and fiddled with the strap on his bag.

“Should we get dinner?” Ron suggested, but it sounded like an incredibly awkward suggestion, and Neville didn’t answer.

“Everything alright over here?” came a deep growl from behind them.

They turned to see Professor Moody, leaning on his staff, magical and regular eyes searching the four of them. His wrinkled and scarred face seemed to soften as he realized who he was looking at, and so did his voice. “It’s alright, sonny,” he said to Neville. “Why don’t you come up to my office. We can have a cup of tea.”

This did not look like it cheered Neville much.

“You alright, Potter?”

“Fine,” Harry said, voice clipped.

Moody seemed to weigh Harry’s answer before gently taking Neville’s shoulder. “It seems harsh, maybe, but you’ve got to know. No point pretending otherwise. Come on, Longbottom.” He led Neville away, voice trailing behind them. “I was there that day, y’know. Helped catch….”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked to the Great Hall in complete silence. It wasn’t until Hermione had scarfed her meal down and dashed off to the library that Ron dared to break it by asking Harry if he’d started on the Divination charts yet.

Ron tactfully avoided the topic of Defense class. It was clear the subject had bothered Harry. But as they made their way upstairs to the Gryffindor common room, Harry was the one who finally brought it up, because he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Wouldn’t Moody and Dumbledore be in trouble with the Ministry if they knew we’d seen the curses?” Harry asked. “They’re illegal, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, they weren’t during the war though, which I guess is how Moody got good at them.” Ron shrugged his shoulders. “Dumbledore’s always done things his way, and Moody’s been getting in trouble with the Ministry for years. Attacks first and asks questions later. Friends with your parents, isn’t he?”

“Balderdash,” Harry said, and the Fat Lady’s portrait swung open for them.

They went up to their dormitory for their Divination homework and found Neville sitting alone. He looked a bit better and had a book in his lap, but Harry guessed by the red around his eyes, he’d been crying.

“Alright?” Harry asked.

“Just reading this book Professor Moody lent me.” He showed them the cover, _Herbal Antidotes for Everyday Use_. “Professor Sprout told Professor Moody I’m really good at Herbology. He thought I’d like this.”

“That’s nice of him,” Harry said. It really was, and Harry was glad that for all of Moody’s gruffness and aggressive punishments, he actually seemed to care about his students. Or at least about Neville. “D’you want to do Divination with us?” he asked Neville.

“No, thank you. I’ll do it on Sunday.”

Harry would’ve liked to wait until the weekend, but with his detention on Saturday, he didn’t think he could afford to.

He and Ron went back to the common room without Neville. He tried to do his star chart properly, and actually pay attention to the affected degrees of each planet, but none of it made any sense to Harry. Eventually, he and Ron gave up and made up a bunch of horrible tragedies waiting for them in the future, everything from losing a bet to being decapitated. They didn’t expect Trelawney to care whether it was accurate or not, only that they had to be prepared for the absolute worst, because that’s what she always saw in the future.

When Hermione came back from the library, she wasn’t very impressed with their homework. Harry didn’t think she had any right to judge, since she’d quit Divination.

“Well what did you spend your evening doing?” he asked as he rolled up the sheet of parchment.

Hermione had a tin box under her arm, and now she opened it, revealing buttons with the letters “S.P.E.W.” printed on them.

“What’s it for?” Harry asked. He took one of the buttons and examined it.

“Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.”

“Never heard of it,” said Ron.

“Of course not. I just started it.”

“Yeah? How many members have you got?”

“If you two join--three.”

“You think we want to walk around with badges on our shirt that say ‘spew’?”

“S.P.E.W,” Hermione corrected, pinning the button to Ron’s jumper before he could protest. She then handed a leaf of parchment to Harry and Ron each. “I’ve been doing thorough research, and Mr. Lupin sent me some information as well. Elf-enslavement goes back centuries, and I can’t believe no one’s done anything before now.”

“Because they like being enslaved,” Ron said.

Hermione continued as if Ron hadn’t spoken. “Our short term aims include getting fair wages and healthy working and living conditions for house-elves. Long term, we intend to change the law about house-elf wand use, and to get house-elves represented in the Ministry of Magic. All Magical Beings deserve that right,” and she looked meaningfully at Harry.

Harry didn’t like being caught between Ron and Hermione, but it was hard to argue with that knowing glare she was shooting him. He wondered what the difference between the house-elves and Remus really was. He certainly didn’t think that the things Dobby had suffered at Malfoy Manor should be legal. But he also wasn’t sure he felt ready to campaign around the school wearing a badge that said “spew” on it.

“Er, how are we going to do this?” Harry asked.

“We start by recruiting members. Two sickles to join--that buys you a badge--and it will help fund our leaflet campaign. You’re treasurer, Ron. You’ve got a collecting tin upstairs. Harry, you’re secretary, so you ought to be taking notes as record of our first meeting.”

Ron was gaping at Hermione, completely speechless. Harry, too, wasn’t quite sure what to do. He glanced around the common room, both to see if anyone else had heard them, and to see if there was anyone else to help him. His eyes fell on Fred and George, heads bent over a piece of parchment. George crossed something out with his quill and whispered, “No--that sounds like we’re accusing him. Got to be careful….”

“Hermione, maybe--” Ron tried, but he was interrupted by a tapping at a window of the Common Room.

Harry got up to let Hedwig inside. She was carrying a parchment envelope tied to her foot. He recognized his mother’s handwriting on the address. Harry gave Hedwig a bit of a biscuit before opening it.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you didn’t worry about me. I’m perfectly alright, and so is your Aunt Petunia, though I don’t expect I’ll be visiting her again any time soon._

_I’m surprised Barty Crouch, Jr. would think to attack in front of a crowd of Muggles, but no one was hurt. I’m not sure what he was after exactly, but don’t worry. Your father and I are working very closely with Dumbledore and our friends to determine what his plan might be. I want you to be careful this year. I know you are every year, but this year especially._

_I heard you got into a duel in your first week and I’m begging you, Harry, don’t start this year off poorly. I know you have a good head on your shoulders and a good heart, but I want you to have more self-control and be more responsible. You shouldn’t let Draco Malfoy get you worked up like that. Please stay out of trouble, and I promise I’ll do the same._

_Love,_

_Mum_

Harry wanted to write back that she should have been there, and if she had she would’ve reacted the same way, but he knew that arguing with his mother would not help his situation at all. He had a detention on Saturday and he would just have to serve it and hope his punishment wouldn’t extend any further than that.

“Everything alright, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, Mum just doesn’t like that I’ve already got a detention in the first week of school. Dad and Sirius would be understanding.”

Uncle Remus, though, maybe less so.

Lily did sound a bit more worried than usual. It was hard to tell in a letter, and since he’d spent all of last year under the threat of Regulus Black, and all of the year before that worried about the Chamber of Secrets, but he couldn’t help but think his mother sounded unusually concerned. Did it have to do with Barty Crouch, Jr.? She and James had promised they would not keep secrets from him anymore, and so far they’d kept that promise. So Harry believed she was she being honest when she said she didn’t know what Barty Crouch wanted. Harry worried, though, that he had a better idea of what Barty Crouch wanted. Voldemort wanted him or his mother for something and Harry didn’t know what.

He went up to bed with these thoughts buzzing around in his head. Worry about Barty and Voldemort’s plans, worry about his parents’ safety, worry about whether or not his parents were lying to him or not. Harry might’ve expected the dreams that came with falling into a restless sleep, but then again, his dreams seemed to come whether he fell asleep easily or not.

He was in that same old house with the lit fireplace as he had been before. He knew that Voldemort was still sitting in the chair that Harry could not see the other side of, and Harry still did not want to see the other side of it. Barty Crouch lay at the feet of the chair, painting and face still twisted with pain, as if he had just finished another round with Voldemort’s Cruciatus Curse. Harry felt less sympathy for him now than he had the first time he’d dreamed about Voldemort torturing Barty.

“I told you to wait,” Voldemort hissed. “I told you we were to use to boy.”

“I saw an opportunity, my lord,” Barty said, and Harry realized the man was crying. “Please, forgive me.”

“I do forgive you,” Voldemort said, high, strained voice surprisingly calm. “I’m a generous master to those who are loyal to me. And swift to punish those who desert me. Don’t you agree, Karkaroff?” His calm voice turned into a snarl. “Barty, bring me the man who thought he could abandon me.”

Barty Crouch got to his feet and dragged another man in front of Voldemort. Harry had never seen him before. He had silver hair, short, and a goatee in tight curl. He was a slight man, and looked thinner in the face, almost the way James had when he’d come home from Azkaban.

“Please, my lord,” the man begged.

“You denounced me, Karkaroff,” said Voldemort. “Denounced your brothers and sisters. You have been a most useful helper these last few days, however, your time is up.”

“My lord, no--”

Harry saw from behind the chair a very thin, bony hand holding a wand. It moved in a quick, zig-zagging motion, and then with a flash of green light, the dream ended, and Harry woke, scar pounding.

Harry sat up in bed and pressed his hands to his forehead. His dreams were growing worse, more vivid. He wondered if he ought to write to his parents about it, but his mother already sounded so worried. He didn’t want to make her even more concerned.

But he could write to Uncle Remus. Remus would know what to do.

He groped for his wand, at least to have a little light. He found it on his bedside table, but before he could light it, his wand poked into something soft.

“Ow!” said Neville.

“Oh--Sorry.” Harry whispered. “What are you doing over here?”

“You sounded hurt.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

And Harry realized how eerily quiet the dorm room was without the sound of Neville’s snores. He’d gotten so used to them these last three years. He lit his wand, hoping it wouldn’t disturb the other boys, whose curtains should have been drawn, and pulled parchment and quill from his bag. He didn’t complain when Neville followed him downstairs into the common room, and together they sat beside the fire.

“Were you having a nightmare?” Neville asked, voice a little timid.

“Something like that,” Harry said as he wrote, “Dear Uncle Remus,” on the parchment. He bit down on his lip, not quite sure how to explain his dream to Remus.

“You have them a lot, it seems.”

“Oh. Sorry. Do I wake you up a lot?”

“No--but sometimes. Dean and Seamus notice, too, you know. Ron said it would go away with the dementors, but they didn’t, did they?”

“Did the dementors give you nightmares, too?” Harry asked.

Neville shrugged. “A little.”

“So you don’t see Barty Crouch torturing your parents, then, when you get too close to a dementor?” Harry hadn’t meant to ask such a personal question, but it had always bothered him why he should have watched his parents suffer when the dementors came for him, when others didn’t react nearly so strongly.

“Oh--no,” Neville’s eyes went wide. “Is that what you see? Harry, that’s awful.”

“Not exactly.” But he didn’t bother to explain it to Neville. Going through one nightmare in a letter tonight was enough.

Neville was quiet while Harry wrote. He wasn’t intrusive on Harry’s space, didn’t look over at the letter or try to make conversation, but it was clear that Neville wanted to talk about something. Or maybe he just needed someone near him, someone who knew what had happened to his parents.

“Professor Moody said he’s one of the Aurors who arrested Barty Crouch, Jr. and Regulus Black,” Neville said, after his lengthy silence. “And he said Fabian and Gideon Prewett got there first, and if they hadn’t gotten to my Mum and Dad, who knows what could have happened. They never told me that’s why they were such good friends with my parents. I just thought they were family while I was growing up.”

“That’s how I felt about Sirius and Uncle Remus,” Harry said as he signed his name at the end of the letter. He’d give it to Hedwig in the morning, but he was glad he’d gotten it all down while the nightmare was fresh. There were only a few details that had slipped away before he’d managed to write it out.

“That’s what I mean,” Neville said. “You’ve got a good family. And I do too. So, if we have nightmares, we just have to remember it’s going to be okay, right? Because we still have our family. They look out for us.”

Harry knew Neville was trying to be encouraging, or maybe Neville just needed to talk it out with someone. Harry was grateful he had Remus to write this letter to. He couldn’t imagine who he would be if he’d had to suffer these nightmares without anyone to talk to about them. And at least he had Neville, who may not be a lot of comfort, but they had been through similar things. Their parents had been friends and faced Voldemort together. They’d found Regulus Black together and stood up to Barty Crouch. Neville was as much his friend as Ron and Hermione were.

“Thanks, Neville,” Harry said. “We should try to get some sleep.”

Neville nodded and together they went back upstairs to their dormitory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons and criticisms always appreciated.


	15. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts prepares for the foreign delegates to arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my beta, ageofzero, who does so much for me and puts up with so much of me. I'd be lost without them.

Dear Uncle Remus,

I know you told me not to worry about them, but I had another nightmare. I saw Voldemort kill someone again. I don’t know who he was, but he was older, with gray hair, and a beard. I can’t remember much else. That probably doesn’t help much, but maybe he’s okay and there’s a way to save him, like with Bertha Jorkins? She didn’t die when I dreamed she did so maybe this man hasn’t died yet either.

My scar hurts, too. I think it’s getting worse, like it did in my first year. It means Voldemort is coming back, doesn’t it?

I know Mum and Dad just want to protect me, but with everything that’s happened, it’s kind of hard not to think that’s what’s coming next. They think I might go off and fight Voldemort, but I’m not going to. That would be stupid. We only barely learned the Unforgivables from Professor Moody today. I wouldn’t stand a chance, even with Hermione and Ron.

I hope you’re doing better this week. Dad said you were, but it’ll be good to hear it from you.

Love,  
Harry

P.S. You can tell Mum and Dad about the dream. It doesn’t have to be a secret. You were just the first person I thought to tell about it.

P.P.S. Have Regulus Black or Sirius ever told you why Regulus left Voldemort? I asked Regulus, but I don’t think he told me the truth, and I can’t think why he would lie.

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

I’m doing much better this week. I’m afraid I’ve gotten too used to the Potion and I’d quite forgotten what the normal recovery process is like. But I’m nearly my usual self again. Thank you for asking.

I understand your concerns about your nightmares. I wish I could tell you that you have nothing to worry about, and I know your parents wish they could say the same thing. But you are correct--we do believe Voldemort will make his return sooner than any of us would like. But there is no reason you should have to face him. 

Your parents are rightfully worried about a lot of things, but we all agree that Hogwarts is the safest place for you right now. Between Dumbledore, Moody, and the rest of your professors, Voldemort or Barty Crouch will be hard pressed to get to you. Right now we want you to focus on your studies. Not because you need to be prepared for disaster or battle--that would be ridiculous to ask of you--but because your parents, Sirius, and I, all want you to be the talented wizard we know you are.

As for your question about Regulus Black, I don’t have an answer. Regulus never told Sirius or me what happened to make him leave Voldemort’s service. Dumbledore told us he heard Regulus’s story and trusted it, and we could safely do the same. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. There are a lot of things that happened during the war that we are all better off not knowing about.

Best of luck in your studies. I imagine they aren’t very easy this year, as you will probably start preparing for next year’s O.W.L,s.

Love,  
Remus

\--- --- ---

True to Remus’s word, as the weeks progressed, Harry’s classes grew more and more difficult. Professor McGonagall remained deeply dissatisfied with their progress in Transfiguration and assigned them incredibly lengthy papers. Harry wished Transfiguration didn’t rely so much on theory. It seemed he hadn’t inherited his father’s gift for the subject. He was usually good when it came to practical application, but his pincushion, no matter how hard he tried, always had several hedgehog spikes on its back, even if he managed to make it soft with sawdust. Maybe if he turned those spikes into pins somehow….

In Divination, Harry and Ron were temporary class favorites for their positively dismal star charts. Professor Trelawney even read a few out loud with misty eyes at the horrors that awaited them. Then, much to the boys’ chagrin, gave them the same assignment for the next month.

Professor Binns gave them weekly essays on goblin rebellions. Harry minded the workload, of course, but he would’ve found it slightly easier to finish the essays if he didn’t have to listen to Hermione mutter about the omission of house-elves from their history class.

On top of essays, Professor Flitwick had them reading several extra books to prepare for Summoning Charms, which Harry knew would be fairly complicated. Those were always the charms his parents had trouble with first thing in the morning.

Hagrid, as much as Harry and his friends loved him, was not proving any better in his lessons. He had the students coming down to his house on alternate evenings to observe the Blast-Ended Skrewts and take notes on their behavior. Harry wasn’t sure if he was glad there was no Quidditch practice because of how much work he had to do, or disappointed he didn’t have Quidditch as an excuse to get out of late night trips observing Skrewts. At least he could count on Hagrid and Ron to be good company.

Naturally, Snape’s lessons were the worst of all. He had his students researching antidotes, and they all worked incredibly hard on this research, maybe more so than their other classes, because Snape had fairly strongly hinted that he would test their antidotes by poisoning one of them before Christmas. Harry had a sneaking suspicion he knew who it would be.

Neville was working double hard on the antidotes, since Snape had nearly poisoned his toad Trevor last year, and seemed to pick up some of Moody’s paranoia in the process. He was hardly ever without the book Moody had loaned him, and once Harry caught him sprinkling something into his morning orange juice that did not look very tasty, but Neville had finished his glass and seemed satisfied that he wasn’t poisoned, if a little disgusted by the unfortunate taste.

Professor Moody, though he had told his students he would only be teaching them for the year, and he had no concern for whether or not they passed the Ministry’s exams, was not proving any easier. He was their hardest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher yet, and his lessons, while more difficult, were no less interesting than his first.

Moody had moved on from showing the students the Unforgivable Curses to teaching them how to resist the Imperius Curse. It started out as a very amusing class. Everyone laughed as Dean Thomas hopped around the classroom, singing the national anthem, or Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. They were practically in stitches when they watched Neville do a set of gymnastics he would have had plenty of trouble doing under his own power.

But the laughter didn’t last long. As each student came out of the Imperius Curse, the feeling of bliss left their faces, and they watched solemnly as the next student stepped forward and failed to resist Moody’s curse. It wasn’t so amusing once you’d experienced it yourself.

Moody called Harry foward next, raised his wand, and said, “ _Imperio_!”

Harry felt very strange, like all the weight had left his body and melted into the ground. He seemed like he was floating away, far away, from the world around him. It was a pleasant feeling, after the weeks of stress from his classes. He felt relaxed and happy, though he wasn’t sure why he was happy. 

“Jump onto the desk,” said Moody’s voice, like a far off echo.

Harry, happy and compliant, bent his legs.

“Why though?” asked another voice. “Stupid thing to do, really.”

“Jump on the desk,” Moody’s voice repeated.

“Don’t think I will, thanks.”

“Jump! Now!”

Harry did jump, but he also worked very hard not to jump. He ended up slamming his knees into the desk. He crumpled to the floor, and as the blissful sensation faded, the pain increased. He felt sure he’d broken both his kneecaps.

“Now that’s more like it!” said Moody, voice as clear and loud as if he were standing right next to Harry, and Harry remembered suddenly where he was and what had happened.

“Look at that you lot. Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We’ll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you pay attention--watch his eyes, that’s where you see it.”

Moody indeed had Harry try it again and again and again. Four times in a row, Moody cast the Imperius Curse on Harry, and three times, Harry very painfully collided with the desk, or the floor, or even both at once. The fourth time, however, Harry managed to throw the spell off completely. He hobbled out of class far too sore to feel victorious.

Ron hadn’t been so successful. He was still skipping every other step. Not even Hermione had been able to resist the curse, though she said she’d come close the last time. Neville kept rubbing his arms and joints, still sore from his excessive gymnastics.

“It’s like he thinks we’ll be attacked any second,” Harry said as they walked into the Great Hall. His own nerves about Voldemort returning any moment were not helped by Moody’s chant of, “Constant vigilance!”

“I know,” said Ron. He glanced over his shoulder to check that they were definitely out of earshot of Moody’s classroom. “Did you hear him telling Seamus what he did to that witch who shouted ‘Boo’ behind him on April Fools’ Day? Bet they were glad to get shot of him at the Ministry.”

“Mr. and Mr. Prewett are like that too,” said Neville, “and they still work for the Ministry.”

“I guess if you fight in the war long enough, you start seeing boggarts in every corner,” Harry said, thinking back on how his dad had acted after seeing the Dark Mark and coming home from the Ministry. It wasn’t the same kind of paranoid that someone might use to describe Moody, but there was a recklessness to James that Harry hadn’t seen before. Curse first, ask questions later.

When they reached the Great Hall, they took their seats at the Gryffindor table near Fred and George, who were sitting unusually apart from the rest of the students.

“We can stuff it in his hand,” George was saying to Fred. “He can’t avoid us forever.”

“Who’s avoiding you?” asked Ron.

“Wish you would,” said Fred.

Not to be put off, Ron asked George, “What’s the problem?”

“Having a nosy git like you for a brother,” George said.

Harry jumped in before Ron could get too frustrated with the twins. “Have you two figured out how to enter to tournament yet?”

George shrugged. “I tried to get answers out of McGonagall, but she wasn’t telling.”

“I wonder what the tasks are going to be?” asked Ron. “I bet we could do them, Harry. We’ve done dangerous stuff before.”

“Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven’t,” said Fred.

“Who’re the judges?” asked Harry.

“Heads of participating schools are always on the panel,” Hermione said.

“That’s alright then,” said Ron. “Dumbledore loves you, Harry. You’d do alright.”

Harry wasn’t so sure a dangerous tournament sounded all that exciting after the summer he’d had. He and Ron, and Neville and Hermione, had done their fair share of dangerous quests. it was something to think about, though, that he could probably complete tasks seventh years had barely dared.

Colin and Dennis Creevey suddenly burst into the Great Hall, shouting, “They posted it! It’s posted! The tournament is posted!”

Eventually the full news traveled down to Harry’s end of the Gryffindor table. The Triwizard Champion would be selected on the last Saturday of the month at the weekend Halloween celebration. The delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would arrive the Friday before. As exciting as that news was, Harry and Ron agreed that the best news was that lessons on that Friday would end a half and hour early. 

Ernie Macmillan’s voice suddenly rose above the crowd--as it often did in its booming way--“Cedric! Did you see it? The tournament’s a week away!”

“Cedric Diggory’s entering?” Ron asked. “That idiot, Hogwarts champion?”

“He’s not an idiot,” Hermione said. “I’ve heard he’s a really good student. And he’s a prefect. You just don’t like him because he’s popular.”

“You only like him because you think he’s handsome.”

“I do not like people just because they’re handsome!”

Ron coughed into his hand, thinly masking, “Lockhart!”

Hermione went very pink and said, “I was twelve!” as if it were so distantly removed from her very grown-up fourteen.

For the next week, all anyone seemed able to talk about was the fast-approaching Triwizard Tournament. It seemed every seventh year was keen on entering, and several students beneath them were determined to try.

The castle was cleaner than Harry had ever seen it. The armor no longer squeaked when it moved. Portraits and their frames were scrubbed of dirt, much to their discontent. Filch, the caretaker, was in rare form, sending a pair of first years into hysterics when they forgot to wipe their shoes before coming back inside.

The rest of the staff seemed equally tense, and drilled lessons in harder than before, as if they could cram enough information into their students in a week to impress their visitors.

When the students came down to breakfast that Friday morning, there were enormous silk banners hanging in the Great Hall: a glittering gold lion on a red field hung over Gryffindor’s table, and it paced as the Gryffindors sat down to eat, shaking its enormous mane; a bronze eagle preened its feathers against a blue field over the Ravenclaw table; a black badger set against a yellow field hung over the Hufflepuff table, nose twitching like a cat ready to pounce; and over Slytherin’s table hung a green banner with a silver snake, weaving itself around the border, tongue flicking out every few minutes and sparkling in the morning sun. Behind the teacher’s table hung an even larger banner, bearing the Hogwarts coat of arms, with all the house mascots united around a large letter H.

Hermione was the only one who was not impressed, and told everyone who asked she took no pleasure in knowing slave labor had done all the work cleaning the castle, and she didn’t see how anyone else could accept such an atrocity.

A few students had bought an S.P.E.W. badge to get her to stop talking, but no one seemed interested in furthering her campaign. Harry was sympathetic to her cause, as he understood how mistreated certain persons were by the Ministry of Magic, but he wasn’t sure why Hermione was so up in arms over Hogwarts. Surely Dumbledore would never allow a Magical Being to be mistreated here.

“Listen,” George said, leaning in close to grab a roll from the plate in front of Hermione, “have you ever been down to the kitchens?”

“No, of course not,” she said. “I hardly think students are supposed to--”

“We have,” George pointed at Fred, “loads of times, to nick food. And we’ve met them, and they’re happy. They think they’ve got the best job in the world--”

“Because they’re uneducated and brainwashed!”

Harry sensed a very loud argument from Hermione coming, but the rush of owls with the morning post cut her speech short. Harry was glad. It was too early in the day to keep up with Hermione’s passionate arguments.

But by evening, even Hermione wasn’t up for a speech about house-elf labor rights. The entire castle was consumed with excitement over the arrival of the delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

Snape reluctantly let the fourth year Slytherins and Gryffindors out of Potions class thirty minutes early, and they rushed to their dormitories to but their things away. The entire school assembled in front of the castle. Each Head of House was there to put their students in order.

“First years in front,” Professor McGonagall called over them. “Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair.”

Pavarti Patil scowled and pulled a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her braid, but as soon as McGonagall turned to fix Dennis Creevey’s hat, Pavarti clipped the butterfly to her red and gold scarf.

The students crowded onto the castle steps, all eagerly scanning the skies, the lake, and the grounds, since no one knew how the students from the foreign schools would be arriving. Lavender suggested they might just apparate, and Hermione told her very sternly it was impossible to Apparate in or out of Hogwarts.

“They’re coming on a dragon!” a first year girl shouted and pointed at the sky.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Dennis Creevey. “That’s not a dragon. It’s a flying house!”

“Ah,” said Dumbledore, “I believe that is the delegation from Beauxbatons that approaches.”

It wasn’t exactly a flying house as Dennis had said, but he wasn’t too far off the mark. It was an enormous carriage, drawn by flying horses. The four horses alone were nearly as tall as the Hogwarts Castle doors. The carriage they pulled was as large as a single-story house and about twice as tall.

When it landed, the first years stepped back, right into the second and third years, out of fear of being run over. But the carriage drew up just short of colliding with the students. The winged horses snickered haughtily, like they knew and relished the small panic they’d caused.

The carriage door was decorated in the Beauxbatons emblem: two golden wands crossed, emitting three silver stars. Then the carriage opened and the entire school seemed to be holding their breath to see who or what was inside.

A woman stepped out, but as the carriage was the size of a house, she was just as tall. Her foot alone was as big as their classroom tables. Harry thought she couldn’t be much bigger than Hagrid, but she certainly seemed bigger. Maybe it was just the way she carried herself.

Dumbledore reached out and took her hand, which was already nearly at his height. “Welcome to Hogwarts, my dear Madame Maxime.”

“Dumbly-dorr,” she said in low voice, and adjusted the black satin covering her hair. “I ‘ope I find you well?”

“In excellent form, I thank you.”

Behind Madame Maxime emerged about a dozen students in blue silk robes. They seemed quite cold and without cloaks, though a few wore scarves of their head like their Headmistress.

“‘As Karkaroff arrived yet?” Madame Maxime asked. 

Dumbledore’s face was unusually solemn. “Have you not heard? Perhaps you should go inside and get comfortable. It is a conversation better had after a warm cup, I think.”

Harry frowned as Madame Maxime led her students into the castle. Where had he heard the name Karkaroff before?

As soon as the Beauxbatons students were gone, and everyone was anxiously watching the skies for the arrival of Durmstrang.

It was Lee Jordan who first pointed to the Black Lake. “Look at the water!” he shouted.

Everyone on the steps turned to see a whirlpool formed in the center of the Black Lake. Out of it emerged an old ship that looked like it may have been underwater for a few hundred years before it arrived at Hogwarts. The old ship rose out of the lake, both terrifying and magnificent. It glided to the shore and let down a plank. Students began to disembark, and in the dim light of the ship, Harry thought they were all built like Crabbe and Goyle. But as they got closer to the light of the castle, Harry saw they were only cloaked in very thick furs.

The man in front wore sleek black fur. He did not look much older than the students, with short dark hair and the faintest of stubble along his chin. But he went up to Dumbledore and the men shook hands.

“Safer,” Dumbledore said politely. “I am glad you could come. Are you well?”

Safer’s smile was equally polite, but it did not reach his dark eyes. In a deep but youthful voice, he said, “Ve are as vell as ve can be. Perhaps ve can get out of this cold. One of our students is not feeling his best.”

Safer pulled a student forward into the light, and as Dumbledore stepped aside to let them by, Ron and several others gasped.

“It’s Krum,” Ron choked and grabbed Harry’s robes. “Harry--it’s Viktor Krum!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques always appreciated. I love hearing your thoughts and headcanons!


	16. The Goblet That's On Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Lily spend a quiet Saturday at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta, ageofzero, who lets me complain about work and traffic as well as helping me through difficult parts of the story.
> 
> And a note about Tolga Safer: Karkaroff is indisposed during my story, so I took Karkaroff's Aide from the Goblet of Fire film, gave him a promotion, and named him after his actor. He's a very handsome young man, btw. Of course he's largely adapted to fit my work and my story's needs. So he isn't really a canon character, but I didn't invent him out of nowhere like I have for a handful of Hogwarts students. 
> 
> Enjoy this rather lengthy chapter. I think it's a pleasant change of pace. I had a lot of fun writing it. And no lie, I pretty much had Pillow Talk by Zayn on loop while I was writing.

James Potter had never found his life dull. And if there ever was a time it seemed like it just might become monotonous, it found a way to be interesting again.

Once, when Harry was barely six months old, Sirius had joked that James seemed to be getting bored enough to have a second child, and that James and Lily would have one child for every moment James felt like life was getting too slow. So far, James would say Sirius’s prediction had come true.

At home, before Hogwarts, James would entertain himself mostly by flying his broom. Though his father had charmed the broom to stay just eight feet off the ground and go no faster than a sparrow might, by the time James was eight, he had broken those charms and flown at whatever height and speed he wished. Running around the grounds of the house provided infinite adventures for a young boy, as well as an infinite number of injuries. His mother believed in the benefit of letting scrapes heal naturally, without magic, hoping it might teach James a lesson that there were consequences for his actions. Broken bones, however, she had to fix right away, because young James had too much energy to sit in a house for weeks on end while his leg or arm or ribs healed. It turned out that he was more of a danger to himself laid up in the house than out in the yard. There was no pausing his endless quest for adventure.

Even when James went off to school--much to his mother’s relief and fear--it was only another set of neverending possibilities. School was no challenge to him, and his attention was free to be spent on other things, like Quidditch, practical jokes, and fixing Remus’s “furry little problem.” Though as imaginative and adventurous as James was, he would never have come up with something as reckless as becoming an Animagi before he’d even completed his O.W.L.s. But Sirius’s imagination was not limited by something as ridiculous as self-preservation, and together they were an unstoppable force.

After school, James had turned down professional Quidditch offers to join the Order of the Phoenix and help Dumbledore with the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He’d also married Lily, and just when he thought he was managing the two difficult tasks of fighting dark forces and being a loving husband, Lily told him she was pregnant. 

The only other time James had really come close to boredom was when he, Lily, and Harry had been hidden under the protection of the Fidelius charm. He had one week where he could not go anywhere or talk to anyone, where he was forced to sit on the sidelines while his friends risked their lives. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, apart from being separated from Lily while she taught at Hogwarts.

But his boredom didn’t last long. After that week in Godric’s Hollow, James was given a new adventure: raising a rapidly growing son. The only thing James wished for during those years was that his mother could still be alive. Not necessarily because he missed her, though that was true, but he thought she would have enjoyed watching him struggle as Harry scraped up just as many knees and broke nearly as many bones as he had when he was young. He hoped that wherever she was, she knew that he was suffering with Harry just as much as she had with him.

When Harry went off to Hogwarts, James couldn’t have been happier. He’d had the time of his life running around those halls, and he expected his son to do the same. And now he and Lily had the house to themselves. It was almost like being newlyweds again, but without the pressure of a war hanging over them. It was everything James could have wanted.

But Godric forbid it stay that way. The number of nights James and Lily lied awake at night worrying about Harry these last few years surely exceeded the number of contented nights they’d had since he’d gone.

Tonight, fortunately, was not one of those nights to lie awake worrying. Tonight, Lily climbed into bed with him and the first thing she did was tuck her hand into his. He kissed her cheek and held her close.

“Are we going to ground Harry this summer for dueling at school?” she asked as she ran her fingers over the rough stubble on his jaw that had started to show just a few hours ago.

“Seems unfair to punish him in June for something he did in September. Besides, he hasn’t even got any Quidditch matches at school this year. He’ll be itching to be on a broom as soon as he gets home.”

Lily sighed. “Is it bad that I feel so relieved? One year, finally, where we can be content to know that Harry’s safe, and there won’t be any jinxed brooms or Bludgers or dementors knocking him out of the air.”

“Only Draco Malfoy throwing curses at him.”

Lily’s pale pink lips curled into a smile. “Harry can handle duels with Malfoy.”

It briefly crossed James’s mind that someday Harry would have to duel Voldemort, but that wouldn’t be for years to come. He didn’t care if there was another prophecy that said Voldemort would rise again soon. He wasn’t going to let his son face Voldemort at fourteen, and he wasn’t going to let his son face Voldemort alone.

James pulled Lily’s hand against his lips and kissed her smooth white skin. “He’s had good teachers.”

She laughed and blushed, and James thought about how much she still looked like the girl he’d fallen in love with. Maybe he couldn’t call his twelve-year-old crush love, but he’d definitely loved Lily when he was sixteen, and that love had only grown the more he’d gotten to know her. Being separated from her while she was teaching at Hogwarts was the hardest thing he’d ever done, harder than fighting a war or being forced into hiding to protect his wife and child.

But Lily was also so different from the girl he’d fallen in love with. Her skin was still smooth, but it no longer felt like velvet. It was more like a rose petal just before it begins to wilt. There were wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and around her mouth from laughing too hard and too much. There were also wrinkles along her forehead from worrying too much. 

He kissed the corner of her mouth and she laughed again. Her laugh was still, to this day, the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, and he kissed her a third time just to hear it again. He put his hand on her thigh and nudged the edge of her slip. She laughed more, but when he moved to sit on top of her, she put a hand on his chest.

“James,” her voice was a bare breath, escaping between her laughs, “Remus is upstairs tonight.”

“So?” He kissed her neck.

She pushed him back. “So, he might hear us. Or Sirius might fight with Regulus and come rushing over here.”

“I’ve heard Remus and Sirius go at it enough times they could manage hearing us for one night.”

“No you haven’t.”

“Sure I have.”

Lily laughed as he kissed her collarbone and sat up. “I know you haven’t because Remus and Sirius have never ‘gone at it’, as you so eloquently put it.”

James sat back on his heels and kept one hand on Lily’s leg. His other was still neatly intertwined with hers. “How do you know?”

“Because Sirius told me.”

“Oh. That’s surprising.”

“Sirius and I do talk, you know.”

“No, I know that. I guess I always assumed Sirius and Remus had sex at least once.”

“Well, not with each other, anyway.”

“Who has our innocent Moony been running about with?”

Lily laughed and this time she leaned forward and kissed James. “Just a moment ago you were accusing him of illicit activities with Sirius, and now he’s innocent Moony?”

“Intimacy in the pack is one thing,” James said very seriously as he moved his hand from Lily’s thigh to the small of her back. “But intimacy outside the pack is very important gossip.”

Lily slid her hand along James’s arm. “So if I were to sleep with Sirius….”

“Ah, the real question would be if I were to sleep with Sirius.”

“Because I’m not pack?”

“Because you’re not Sirius’s type.”

Lily hummed. “Fair, freckled, Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher isn’t Sirius’s type?”

“I think green eyes aren’t Sirius’s type.” James ran his fingertips along the length of Lily’s spine.

“Shame,” she said, and leaned forward so they were just short of kiss. “Sirius and I could have had beautiful children.”

It was the wrong joke to make and they both knew it the moment she said it. James tried to smile, and Lily tried too, but their intertwined hands drifted to Lily’s stomach. She dropped her head onto his shoulder and he kissed the bit of her hair that he could reach.

“Harry’s more than enough,” James told her.

Her laugh this time sounded mixed with a sob. It was no less beautiful, but it didn’t make James nearly as happy as her laughter had moments ago.

“I don’t know what we’d do if we had two of Harry, but….” Lily didn’t finish.

“I know,” James said, and together they laid back down. 

During their week in Godric’s Hollow, just when James was beginning to grow bored, Lily had told him that she was pregnant with their second child. But when Voldemort attacked, and after they’d suffered the Ministry’s poking and prodding, and Sirius was safely out of Azkaban, and James, Lily, and Harry were safe and at home, Lily had, on their first morning back, told him very tearfully they were not going to have a second child after all.

When James was five, his mother had told him that he was no longer going to be a brother. James didn’t remember the moment he’d been told he would be an older brother in the first place, but he distinctly remembered the moment he’d been told he wouldn’t. He’d been bewildered by his mother’s tears. From his perspective, he’d lost a brother or sister he’d never met, and he was much more interested in climbing to the top of that orange tree he was finally tall enough to grab the lowest branch of.

But when Lily had cried and told him they’d lost their second child they’d never met, he’d cried with her. And months later Lily told him she didn’t think they were ever going to have another child. He hadn’t cried when she told him that, but there were times, like tonight, when they each got very quiet, and thought about all the things they’d never get to experience, until someone ran out of losses to count and would help the other start to count their blessings.

\--- --- ---

The next day, James and Lily were sitting at the breakfast table. A sense of quietness lingered from the night before that might have left if Remus had been there, but Remus was out looking for work, as usual. It had certainly gotten harder after his time at Hogwarts. A recent bit of legislation with additional restrictions to hiring werewolves didn’t help. 

James had sent several strongly worded letters, making his opinion known to the Minister, but he’d only gotten back brief and conciliatory replies that didn’t address the problem at all. That didn’t stop Remus from going out early every morning, often before James and Lily woke up, to find at least something to keep him occupied for the day and earn a few sickles, maybe a galleon if he was lucky.

James used to tell Remus he didn’t need to work, but he knew now that Remus did need work. Remus needed to have a sense of purpose. It only made him unhappy to rely on his friends to support his own needs, and if he hadn’t felt needed as a mediator between Regulus and Sirius, he would have left to find his own place as soon as summer began.

Keeping Remus around was the only good thing James really saw in Regulus Black. Of course, he trusted Regulus, because Dumbledore trusted Regulus. But that didn’t mean he had to like Regulus. To do so would feel like he was betraying his best friend.

So when Lily got up and started polishing their fine silver, James asked, “Do we have to?”

“It’s one tea, James,” she said.

“We’ve already had him to tea once. That makes this two teas.”

“Stop whining and get out that tablecloth from the spare room. Since you were so insistent on keeping your great-grandmother’s fabric, we might as well put it to use.”

“We don’t have to put out the fancy stuff,” he grumbled, but got to his feet.

“I don’t get to have guests over for tea often. I might as well make it special.”

James continued his complaining, even as he climbed the stairs. “We have Remus and Sirius over all the time.”

“Pack doesn’t count,” Lily called after him.

James still grumbled to himself, all the way down the west wing of the house, all the way to the spare room they’d stored about a quarter of the attic junk in, and the whole time he dug through the trunk. He finally stopped grumbling when he remembered what Harry had said about Ron’s dress robes, and dug around the bottom of the trunk, under the tablecloths, for something that might work.

James came downstairs with a black tablecloth that had green vines winding along it, blooming into bright yellow stars and growing into orange pumpkins before they shrunk away and started the cycle over again. In his other hand he carried a set of dress robes, pine green with snowfall that built up around the hems and dusted the ends of pine needles, creating a strange impression of pine trees, visible only by their snowy edges. The dress robes had been both a hit at the Minister’s Christmas party in 1929 and a source of intense criticism for his great-grandmother. Apparently the minimalist impression of pine trees didn’t go over well with some, and the Minister had complained that the conversation about the robes took away from his party. Others had raved about her deviation from her traditional flowers and declared this new simplicity “the way of the future.” Which had been true, as the magical pictures decorating robes had faded out of style, replaced with solid colors and accented belts.

James knew all this because his great-grandmother cut all the reviews of her work out of the _Daily Prophet_ and pinned them into the lining of her robes. It was more than he wanted to know about fashion, but he’d had to take the articles out before he could send the robes to Harry, and he’d read a bit of them in the process.

James tossed the tablecloth onto the tea table in the parlor--Lily told him to come back and fix it, but he ignored her--and carefully wrapped up the dress robes he’d picked out for Ron. Hedwig should be along later in the day with a letter from Harry, and he’d send the robes back with her. She usually came just before tea on Saturdays.

Which is why James was surprised when around lunch time, an owl flew into their kitchen window. It was a brown barn owl, plain in appearance but with eyes that glistened like they knew a little more than an owl ought to. James was unsurprised to see the Hogwarts crest stamped on the parchment attached to the owl’s talons.

He untied the letter and fed the bird the crust of his sandwich. “Lily, Dumbledore’s reply’s here.”

“Read it out loud,” she called from upstairs, voice muffled by what James assumed was the linen closet. They usually took care of bedding on the weekends, and she was probably replacing the sheets on Harry’s bed.

But James wasn’t about to shout Dumbledore’s reply through the whole house and risk being scolded by some grumpy portraits, so he abandoned his sandwich on the kitchen counter and followed the sound of her voice. He found her in the hallway, levitating sheets from the linen closet into Harry’s bedroom. He leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom and read.

_Dear James and Lily,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize for the lateness of my reply. You can imagine we have had a busy few weeks here at the school._

_I have just finished a very long tea with the interim headmaster of Durmstrang, Tolga Safer, and I am afraid it was not as enlightening as I’d hoped, though I do believe the man described in Harry’s dream was Igor Karkaroff. You may remember him as a Death Eater that Alastor Moody took into custody who was eventually released from Azkaban for his cooperation with the Ministry._

_The common belief among those who knew Karkaroff is that he fled when the Dark Mark was sighted at the Quidditch World Cup, and is still expected to resurface when the culprit is captured. I would be inclined to agree with this, but Safer believes that Karkaroff disappeared days before the World Cup, so the Dark Mark could not have been the cause of his flight. It is possible he knew something about Voldemort’s_ , James substituted You-Know-Who here, _return that we do not, but you know as well as I do that innocuous disappearances is how it started last time._

 _I do not tell you this to worry you. Quite the opposite, in fact. It seems that Voldemort_ \--You-Know-Who-- _is far from our shores, and we should not have any cause for immediate concern. You have nothing to worry about it._

_Warm regards,  
Albus Dumbledore_

“He didn’t sign his full name,” James said with a laugh. “He really must’ve written this in a rush.”

Lily, by now, was just finishing putting fresh sheets on Remus’s bed. Letter finished, James tucked it into his robes and picked up the used linens. 

“He sounds a bit concerned,” Lily said, following James downstairs.

“He said not to be concerned.”

“But that bit about everything starting the same as before. I think he knows more than he’s telling us.” Lily pulled down the washing bin from the cupboard and took it outside.

James followed. He dumped the sheets into the bin as Lily began to fill it with water from her wand. “Of course he knows more than he’s telling us. It’s his job to know more than everyone else.”

“But not about Harry.” Lily’s voice was surprisingly sharp, and James couldn’t help but feel stung on Dumbledore’s behalf. 

“It’s our job to know everything about Harry,” she continued. “He didn’t even say anything about why Harry’s having these dreams, or why they’re getting worse, and his scar hurts. He didn’t actually say anything we don’t already know.”

“We didn’t know Igor Karkaroff was the man in Harry’s dream.”

“And how does that help us?” Lily dumped the soap in and used her wand to stir it in with the water and bedding.

James would have helped her, but he didn’t have his wand on him. “We know Karkaroff’s a Death Eater. You-Know-Who must be recruiting old members off-shore before he comes here. We have time.”

Time was everything to James and Lily. They knew that Harry would face Voldemort eventually. That was inevitable, not just because it was prophesied, but because they’d managed to raise a brave and daring boy who would not stand by while others suffered. It hadn’t really been intentional, but their love for Harry and their courage were passed on as surely as James’s hair and Lily’s eyes had been.

All James and Lily had to do was delay the prophecy until Harry was ready. Someday, maybe, Harry would be ready and James and Lily would not be, but that day was far in the future. Right now their son was still underage, hadn’t even passed his O.W.L.s, and there was no way they would let him face Voldemort.

James went inside to hunt down his wand and helped Lily ring out the wash and hang it in the yard. The air was a little damp, but James only had to use a Drying Charm and the sheets were done. He folded the linens and put them away while Lily began the baking for tea. James was fair at Potions, but he made large messes. The same was true for baking, so he left it to Lily.

He did, however, go back for his forgotten sandwich, only to find that the Hogwarts owl had eaten half of it and left.

Remus came home while James was making himself another, trying very hard to stay out of Lily’s way as she mixed a batter for the scones. While Remus disappeared upstairs to change robes, James made him a sandwich too, ready at the dinner table when Remus came down.

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” Remus said when he saw it.

“Figured you’d want something to hold you over until tea,” James said and took a bite of his own sandwich. He added, mouth still full, “Also figured you didn’t eat all day.”

Remus used James’s chewing as an excuse to ignore the accusation, but his silence spoke to its truth. “How was your day?” he asked after taking a bite and swallowing it.

“Just fine. We got Dumbledore’s reply today. Told us we didn’t have anything to worry about.”

Remus nodded. James wondered if Remus’s fears were the same as Lily’s. Dumbledore really hadn’t said anything about Harry. But James trusted Dumbledore. Dumbledore had protected James and Lily without question during the war. He’d kept them and Harry safe, and James trusted that Dumbledore would continue to do so.

“Did you find any work today?” James asked.

“No, but I think on Monday I’ll try a few Muggle stores. If I brush up on Muggle currency, I think I could be a decent clerk, if the scars don’t bother anyone.”

It was always risky for a wizard to take a Muggle job. James realized how desperate Remus was for work and he wished there was something he could do. But he was useless, short of starting a business and hiring Remus. James considered that for a moment, but he couldn’t imagine anything he’d want to sell. Quidditch gear? Potions? He certainly had the time to open his own business.

Before James could pitch his new idea to Remus, there was a rustle of wings and hooting. Hedwig swooped in and landed on the back of James’s chair. Not far behind her was brown owl with a letter for Remus.

James looked for the letter, but there was none around Hedwig’s talon. Then Lily walked in, parchment in hand. She took a seat beside Remus.

“Harry says the delegates for the Triwizard Tournament arrived yesterday from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons,” Lily read to him and Remus. “And that Viktor Krum is one of them.”

“I’ll have to ask him to send us an autograph,” James said, and gave Hedwig his plate. She eagerly picked at his crumbs. “I knew Viktor Krum was still in school, but I never would have guessed he went to Beauxbatons.”

“I’m sure he goes to Durmstrang,” Remus said with a faint smile as he opened his own envelope. But there was more than parchment inside. A small button with the letters “S.P.E.W.” printed on it slid onto the table.

“What’s this?” James asked and picked it up.

“Hermione Granger’s campaign organization for house-elf labor rights. I believe she named it the ‘Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.’”

“It says ‘spew,’” James said.

“It might need workshopping,” Remus agreed.

Lily took the button from James. “I think it’s wonderful she’s getting involved in something like this. What’s her organization doing?”

“She included a leaflet,” Remus said, and passed the paper around the table.

James was about as impressed with Hermione’s leaflet as he was with the name of her society. “I’m all for house-elf welfare, but wages and holidays? Representation? Can you imagine a house-elf in the Ministry?”

“Why can’t there be a house-elf in the Ministry?” Lily asked.

James knew from the severity in her tone and in her brilliant green eyes that he shouldn’t challenge her, but he did anyway, because he always did. “Because house-elves aren’t politicians. They like hard work and cleaning and things like that. That’s what they do.”

“Maybe that’s all they do now, but why can’t they do other things? Could a house-elf open their own restaurant?”

James shook his head. “Who would pay a house-elf to wait on them? That isn’t the point of house-elves!”

Lily raised her eyebrows. “So the point of house-elves is enslavement, then, is that what you’re saying? An entire race of magical beings, with magic different enough from ours that we don’t fully understand it, is meant for enslavement? It didn’t occur to you, at all, that maybe wizards enslaved house-elves because they were terrified of their power, and the magic they could do without wands?”

Remus took a very long sip of his water and avoided both James’s and Lily’s glances for help.

“House-elves love their work,” James argued. “If you paid them for it, it would be disrespectful.”

Lily laughed. “Just because you love your work, doesn’t mean you oughtn’t be paid for it. Paying for work increases its value. That’s the point of paying for work. It’s the lack of rules surrounding house-elf labor rights that put their basic welfare in such a position in the first place. Just because someone once put a magical contract into place saying the work would be unpaid doesn’t make it right. Denying a house-elf a wand just because they haven’t had wands in centuries or we don’t know what sort of magic they can do with a wand doesn’t make it right. You’d be furious if someone said Remus didn’t deserve a wand.”

“Remus is human, not--”

“He’s a Being, but he isn’t just human. He’s--”

“Please leave me out of this,” Remus begged.

James obliged and took the opportunity to return his and Remus’s dishes to the kitchen.

James had grown up with two house-elves, and he’d loved them both. They’d raised him as much as his mother had, really. Even when his mother had set the house-elves free just before her death, they’d stayed on, even after James and Lily were married. It wasn’t until James and Lily left the house and James told them they had to leave in case Voldemort came looking for him and Lily that they finally moved on. They were there because they wanted to be, not because they had to be. And in all the time he and Lily had lived in the house after their wedding, he hadn’t heard Lily ask once if they should pay them.

James put the dishes away, thinking he really didn’t mind that there were no house-elves, but he wouldn’t complain if they decided to get one. Lily’s scones were cooling on the counter and James snuck one, wincing as it burned the roof of his mouth. It was good, regardless. 

Hedwig was about to fly out the kitchen window after the Hogwarts owl that had delivered Hermione’s letter, but James clicked his tongue at her.

“I’ve got a package for Harry,” he said. Hastily, James scribbled a note explaining the dress robes--without all the fashion information--and tied it to Hedwig’s leg. “Fly safe,” he said, and fed her the rest of the scone he’d taken.

Hedwig hooted at him--he wasn’t sure if it was gratitude or annoyance--and took off.

James went back into the kitchen and sat down, eager to talk about something that wasn’t house-elf rights. “What else does Harry say?”

“Hm? Oh.” Lily reached for the parchment. “I suppose I ought to read it.” She cleared her throat.

Dear Mum and Dad,

The students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived last night and Viktor Krum is one of them! He’s in Durmstrang and everyone wants his autograph.

Though there was a moment where I thought he might ask me for mine. He and a bunch of other Durmstrang students stopped and stared at me, and then Professor Moody got all grumpy with them. Called them obsessed with the Dark Arts or something. And Beauxbatons started whispering, but at least they didn’t stop and stare.

Dumbledore announced the tournament’s start last night, too. The students who want to compete have to put their name in this goblet that’s on fire, and then the goblet’s going to judge to see who gets to be the champion for their school. It’s kind of weird, but Fred and George think they can manage to get around it. They’re brewing an Aging Potion to get over Dumbledore’s Age Line right now. Hermione says it won’t work, and she’s probably right, but that’s not going to stop Fred and George from trying.

They’ll announce the champions tonight. Angelina Johnson put her name in, and all of Gryffindor is hoping it’s going to be her. If Viktor Krum gets picked, I might have a hard time cheering for Hogwarts.

We’re going to go see Hagrid now. I’ll write to you tonight when they announce the champions!

Love,

Harry

P.S. Fred and George didn’t get their names in. They got really long white beards instead, and everyone laughed.

James finished his toast. “It sounds like Harry’s having a good time.”

Lily folded the parchment back up and tapped it with her wand, sending it to the box in the closet where they kept all of their letters from Harry. “The tournament will be fun. Perhaps we should leave him alone and not try to get tickets. Let him have a year without us checking in on him.”

James sipped his tea. “I’m not missing the first Triwizard Tournament in centuries. If you’re so concerned about letting Harry alone for once, we don’t have to talk to him, but I absolutely want to go.”

He was spared further argument from Lily by the roar of the fireplace. Sirius and Regulus had arrived.

They took tea in the parlor. When they walked in, James was struck with the memory of Harry’s eleventh birthday, when they’d told Harry about the night he’d gotten his scar, and the war his parents and their friends had fought in. As he greeted Regulus and Sirius, he wondered how long it would be before they would sit Harry down again and tell him about the prophecy. James had meant to do it this summer, but something else had always managed to put the conversation off. It was easy enough to put off something you didn’t really want to do. And of course, Lily was all for postponing it. They’d agreed, many years ago, to wait until Harry was seventeen. James thought in light of recent events, they ought to tell Harry now. Lily insisted they wait, arguing that just because things were in motion didn’t mean the prophecy had to happen now.

So James had allowed the conversation to be set aside, again and again.

“You’re looking well,” Regulus said to Remus as he added a small scoop of sugar to his tea.

“Thank you,” he said, though it wasn’t much of a surprise. This was a good week for him. It was nearly the new moon. “You’re looking well, too. You’ve even got some color to you.”

James might have noticed if Regulus and Sirius were sitting next to each other, but of course they weren’t, so it took Remus pointing it out to see the slight variance in color between the nearly identical brothers. Regulus’s face was indeed flushed with the faintest of colors. Nothing to overwhelm his naturally pale complexion, but a sort of color that came with a more active life. 

James had seen Regulus once in Azkaban, when he’d gone after the end of the war on Ministry business, as well as to see to it Regulus’s inheritance properly went to Sirius. Now he thought that was a bit of a mistake, as Sirius had squandered it in seven short years and Regulus was free with nothing to his name.

When he’d seen Regulus in Azkaban, the dementors had already taken their toll on him. So he’d expected Regulus to look about that same level of gaunt and sallow after spending a year on the run, but when James had finally met Regulus after his escape from Azkaban, when Dumbledore had properly reintroduced them, Regulus looked much like the young man he’d known in school. It turned out, Regulus had spent most of the last few months being Ginny Weasley’s pampered cat, and it had helped his appearance improve quite a bit.

But he’d still had that haunted look in his eyes that came from years of suffering under dementors. James hadn’t been sure if Regulus would ever be able to get rid of that. Still, Remus was right--Regulus did look better.

“I’ve been making trips to our country estate,” Regulus said. “Checking on the hippogriff. I think the fresh air is doing some good for both of us.”

“Isn’t that a bit dangerous?” Lily asked. “Aren’t you worried you’ll be spotted, or caught?”

Regulus took a sip of his tea before answering. “I think it’s a risk worth taking.”

James made brief eye contact with Sirius. They’d talked about this already. Sirius was worried about Regulus taking time away from Grimmauld Place, though not so much because he was worried about Regulus getting caught, but because he was worried about what Regulus was really doing. Sirius didn’t seem to believe Regulus had enough affection for the hunted hippogriff to visit every week. He suspected Regulus was returning to his old Death Eater friends, and none of Remus or James’s assurances that if Dumbledore trusted him, surely he was trustworthy, seemed to help.

“We’d be happy to check in on Buckbeak for you,” James said, wondering how Regulus would take the offer. Would he be pleased, or did it interfere with something else he was planning?

Regulus was unreadable as usual. “That’s very kind of you. Perhaps I will take you up on that.”

James was used to Remus being wary of expression, but even Remus had certain tells that James and Sirius had learned to recognize over their years of friendship. As far as James could tell, Regulus had none. He wasn’t surprised that Sirius had often described his brother has cold-hearted, and without any sort of feeling, though James doubted someone with no emotion at all would be so heavily affected by dementors.

Lily tactfully steered the conversation to the Triwizard Tournament..

“Has Harry said who the champions are yet?” Remus asked.

“They’ll announce it tonight,” James said. “But he did say that Angelina Johnson is putting her name in.”

“Ah, good for her.”

“She’s a Chaser for their Quidditch team, isn’t she?” Sirius asked. He tried to keep on top of all the players in Harry’s Quidditch team.

“Yes,” Remus answered, “and a very quick duelist. She’d do well, if chosen.”

Lily nodded in agreement. “I had to scold her for using a Blasting Spell during one of the practice duels, but if I hadn’t been a teacher--and if she hadn’t obliterated half the desks--I would’ve congratulated her on mastering such a powerful spell before she’d even reached her O.W.L. exams.”

Remus laughed. “I’d bet a galleon she used it against Fred Weasley.”

“Of course she did.”

“And George cursed her back?”

“A very well-timed and precise Jelly-Legs Curse,” she smiled.

“So they’re the ones from whom Ginny Weasley learned her curses, then?” Regulus asked.

Remus and Lily looked surprised. Usually they talked about their former students uninterrupted by James and Sirius. But James supposed Regulus had, in a strange way, gotten to know the Gryffindor students, but not the way Lily and Remus had. He’d spent time in the common room, watching them where they worked and played, not in the classroom.

“Yes, she is quite good at jinxes,” Remus said. “Though she’s not supposed to be practicing them outside the classroom.”

“One of the older boys--McLaggen, I think--made a comment about her hair, and she hexed him for it.”

“It amazes me,” Lily said, “just how much happens between the students that teachers are never aware of.”

Remus, Sirius, and James all looked at each other, and, though they tried very hard not to, couldn’t help but break into a shared fit uncontrollable laughter.

So tea wasn’t as terrible as James had expected. He’d certainly had worse as a child with his parents’ friends, and as an adult in a deadly war. But he wasn’t terribly unhappy to see Regulus go. Though he was a little sad that Sirius asked Remus to go with them. Remus’s few days with the Potters were up, and it was time to stay with Sirius.

James and Lily said goodbye to their friends, and Regulus, and began to clean up the parlor and the kitchen. Their dinner was small and quiet. Neither wanted to bring up the house-elf argument, even with Remus gone. James didn’t know enough about the Hogwarts students to guess who the champion might be, but he listened to Lily talk about some of her favorite picks. Then she opened a bottle of wine for the two of them to share, and they settled into the couch and into each other.

“Have you spoken to your sister recently?” James asked.

“Not since that last time I saw her, when Barty Crouch attacked me. Why?”

“Just thinking. Sirius and Regulus are sort of getting along.”

“Maybe if Remus came with me to visit my sister,” Lily said with a small smile.

“He is good at that,” James agreed.

“But Remus isn’t here now,” Lily said, and set down her glass.

“No.”

“And if Sirius gets in a fight with Regulus, Remus will be there to help fix it.”

“True.”

Lily kissed James’s cheek, then the corner of his mouth, then directly on his lips. As she shifted her kisses, she shifted her weight to be on top of him. James was just beginning to slide his hands over her thighs when the fireplace roared. She dropped to the floor, knocking over the wine glasses in the process.

Remus walked in, and to his credit, he didn’t blush at all. He only smiled. “Sorry. Forgot my toothbrush. I’ll be gone in a moment.”

Lily was red-faced, whether from the wine or the embarrassment of being caught in such an intimate position. She grabbed her wand and hastily vanished the spilled wine. James picked up the glasses, fortunately unbroken, off the soft carpet, and took them into the kitchen. He met Lily back in the room and Remus hastily waved goodbye as he walked through their fireplace.

“He should have one toothbrush for each house,” James said.

Lily smiled. “Yes, probably.”

“Bed?”

“Bed,” she sighed.

James wondered if the sigh was relief that they could try again or disappointment that the moment had passed entirely.

He knew Lily always thought their inability to have a second child was her fault, or something that had happened to her that night in Godric’s Hollow. But James had always wondered if it was his fault, if he was the one who didn’t want a child, and that somehow meant it wouldn’t happen. As if Sirius’s joke actually held weight. If it did, then maybe, just maybe, tonight would be a better night for them. They had a year without worrying about Harry to look forward to. They had time before Voldemort came back. Maybe that meant now he’d be bored enough for another child.

He was about to follow Lily to the bedroom when a white owl flew past him and dropped a letter onto the table.

“Hedwig?” James picked up the letter, surprised to see Harry’s handwriting on the envelope. It was rather late for Harry to be writing home.

“Lily, Harry’s just sent a letter.”

“Is everything alright?” Lily asked.

“I hope so. He said he’d send us the champions tonight, didn’t he?”

“Did Angelina get it?”

But when James opened the letter, there was no list of champions inside, or a celebration of Angelina Johnson becoming champion. It was only one short sentence.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I swear I didn’t do it._

_Love,  
Harry_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated!


	17. The Four Champions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Triwizard Tournament with four competitors?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta, ageofzero. I seriously wish I could afford to pay you. You do so much for me.
> 
> My mother surprised us with family breakfast, which meant mimosas and screwdrivers, so I tried really hard to edit this chapter but ?????? who knows certainly not me. I hope you like.

Cedric Diggory stepped into the room adjacent to the Great Hall, trying to tamp down the well of anxiety that began to crawl up his throat. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he walked into the room, certainly not fireworks or fanfare, but still, it was surprisingly gloomy in this side room attached to the Great Hall, lined with portraits of old witches and wizards. He wondered vaguely who they were, but he was more interested in his competitors standing by the fire--Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum. He didn’t know much about Fleur, but he knew plenty about Viktor. He’d read all he could about the star Seeker of the Quidditch Cup, even daydreamed about competing against him--what Seeker hadn’t? But Cedric knew he wasn’t built to be a professional Seeker, certainly not the way Krum was.

As odd as it felt to stand next to Krum, as if they were equals, and Ms. Delacour, who was beautiful enough to be otherworldly, the fire was the only source of light and warmth in the room, so he walked towards it. He placed his hands behind his back and stared into the fire, unable to make eye contact with either of the other champions, and certainly none of the portraits, who had just begun to whisper excitedly to one another. 

The door creaked open and Fleur turned.

“What is it?” she asked. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?”

Cedric turned to see Harry Potter, staring awkwardly at the three champions. Bounding in behind him was Ludo Bagman, face flushed and smile wide.

“Extraordinary!” Bagman said, and led Harry farther into the room. Cedric had a sinking feeling in his stomach, like he knew what Bagman was about to say, and he wasn’t going to like it.

“Absolutely extraordinary,” Bagman continued, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “May I introduce--incredible though it may seem--the fourth Triwizard Champion?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cedric saw Viktor straighten, and Fleur laughed.

“Oh, a vairy funny joke Meester Bagman.”

Cedric would’ve liked to believe that, or that maybe they had all misheard Bagman, but he doubted the Goblet of Fire was something even Bagman would joke about. Surely there was another explanation. Surely there couldn’t be four champions in a Triwizard Tournament.

“Joke? No, no, not at all! Harry’s name just came out of the Goblet of Fire.”

Cedric was not very surprised. Confused, maybe, about why the Goblet would choose him and Harry, but certainly not surprised. Harry Potter had saved the school his first year from Voldemort. Harry Potter had fought the monster in the Chamber of Secrets his second year. His third year, well, he’d had a mad killer after him so maybe he’d been a little distracted. It really wasn’t surprising that in Harry’s fourth year he’d be selected to be the school champion, Age Line or no.

But why had the Goblet put Cedric’s name out first?

“But evidently there has been a mistake.” Anger edged in Fleur’s voice. By the firelight, she looked very terrifying. “‘E cannot compete. ‘E is too young.”

“As you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure.” Bagman rubbed his chin and smiled down at Harry, who looked to Cedric like he was about to throw up two days of feasts in one go.

“And as his name’s come out of the goblet,” Bagman continued, “I mean, I don’t think there can be any ducking out at this stage. It’s down in the rules. You’re obligated. Harry will just have to do the best he--”

The door opened, much louder and angrier than it had with any of the champions. The three headmasters came in, faces dark and unreadable, except Madame Maxime, who looked very furious. Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall were right behind the headmasters. Cedric wondered where Professor Sprout was and what business Snape had in here.

“Madame Maxime!” Fleur ran into her teacher’s very large arms. “Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!”

“What is ze meaning of this, Dumbly-dorr?” asked Madame Maxime.

Headmaster Safer did not look much happier. “This is completely unfair. Hogwarts cannot have two champions! It is against the rules! You promised your Age Line would prevent other students from competing. If we had known--”

“It’s no one’s fault but Potter’s,” said Snape. “Don’t go blaming Dumbledore for Potter’s determination to break rules. He’s been crossing lines ever since he arrived here--”

“Thank you, Severus,” said Dumbledore firmly.

Cedric felt a bit of relief that Dumbledore was finally taking the situation in hand. If anyone could fix this, it would be Dumbledore. There was no way Dumbledore would let a fourteen-year-old compete in a tournament meant to challenge of-age wizards.

“Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” Dumbledore asked calmly.

“No,” Harry said, a bit frantic.

Dumbledore ignored Snape’s snort of disbelief. “Did you ask an older student to do it for you?”

“No.” Harry was much more sure of himself that time.

Madame Maxime was less sure. “But of course ‘e is lying!”

Professor McGonagall, however, jumped to Harry’s defense. “He could not have crossed the Age Line. I am sure we all agree on that--”

“Dumbly-dorr must ‘ave made a mistake wiz ze Line.”

“It is possible,” Dumbledore agreed.

Professor McGonagall let out a very sharp breath. “Dumbledore, you know perfectly well Harry could not have crossed that line himself, and as Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I’m sure that should be good enough for everybody else.” She glared at Professor Snape who glared right back.

“Dumbledore,” Safer said, “you know what it took for us to come here. You promised us it would be good, and you have let this happen. Perhaps we should leave now and cancel the Tournament.”

“No,” Bagman protested. “After all our planning and hard work--”

“I agree with Safer,” Madame Maxime said, “We will not stay here and suffer zis injustice, unless we can enter all our students until two champions are chosen--”

“An empty threat,” a voice growled. Professor Moody closed the door and walked forward, the sound of his prosthetic leg echoing on the stone floor. “The fire’s out and won’t reignite until the next tournament, and none of you can leave your champions. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” Moody stalked closer to the fire, his scarred face made more terrifying by the harsh, flickering shadows. He reminded Cedric of his mother’s terrifying bedtime stories of gremlins and evil warlocks that ate naughty children.

“Convenient?” Safer said. “Mr. Moody, this is anything but convenient.”

“Is it?” Moody’s voice grew quiet, like Mrs. Diggory’s would just when the child walked down the path they had been explicitly told to avoid. “It’s very simple. Someone put Potter’s name in that goblet knowing he’d have to compete if it came out.” His human eye stared into the fire, as Cedric had moments ago, but his magical eye searched everyone in the room, hunting for the guilty party. “Whoever put the boy’s name in that goblet was a very skilled witch or wizard. They would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament. I’m guessing they submitted Potter’s name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category.”

“What a ridiculously complex explanation for what is no more than a childish prank--”

“Is it, Severus?” Moody growled. “You may remember it was once my job to think as Dark wizards do--”

“Alastor,” Dumbledore said, and everyone fell silent. He turned to Mr. Crouch, who had been lingering in the shadows for the entirety of the argument. “Barty, you’re the expert here. Does Mr. Potter have to compete in the tournament? Are there no other solutions?”

“The rules are quite clear,” Mr. Crouch said. “When a name is chosen by the Goblet of Fire, that wizard, or witch, is required to compete in the tournament.”

Cedric watched Dumbledore sink into a chair, face impassive. Cedric was struck suddenly in the high contrast of the firelight how very old Dumbledore must be. If even he did not have a solution, then Cedric truly was going to have to share the role of Hogwarts Champion with Harry Potter. It was going to be a tough act to compete with.

Bagman was the only one who didn’t seem upset by the situation. In fact, he looked positively thrilled. “Shall we crack on then? Got to give our champions their instructions, haven’t we? Barty, want to do the honors?”

Mr. Crouch glanced coldly at Bagman. He seemed none too happy about the fourth champion either. He stepped closer into the light of the fire and looked at each champion as if he were inspecting a Gringotts bank statement for accounting errors.

“The first task is designed to test your daring, so we will not tell you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard. Very important.” He smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. Cedric wondered if he ought to be more scared of the task or of Mr. Crouch.

“The first task will take place on November the twenty-first, in front of the other students and a panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-the-year tests.” He turned to Dumbledore. “I think that is all?”

“I think so.” Dumbledore stood. “You are sure you will not stay at Hogwarts, Barty?”

“No, I’m afraid I must be getting home.” He checked the pocket watch hanging from his belt. “My house-elf will be up all night with worry if I don’t get back soon.”

“Come on, Barty, I’m staying,” said Bagman. “It’s all happening at Hogwarts, now, you know.”

“I think not,” he said, voice cold again. Cedric got the distinct impression that Mr. Crouch did not like Bagman. Though from what he knew of Mr. Crouch and had heard from his father, Mr. Crouch probably didn’t like anyone.

Dumbledore tried again. “Safer, Madam Maxime, could I interest either of you in a night cap?”

But Madame Maxime was already leading Fleur from the room. They were speaking in rapid fire French, and Cedric did not catch so much as a “ _Bonsoir_.”

Safer bowed stiffly to Dumbledore. “There is too much to do, I think.” And as he motioned for him and Viktor to leave, he added a belated and mumbled, “Good night.”

Dumbledore smiled at Harry and Cedric. If he was concerned at all about Harry competing in the tournament, Cedric saw no sign of it. “Well, I suggest the two of you go up to bed. I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.”

Cedric nodded and he left with Harry right behind him. They walked through the empty Great Hall in silence. Cedric really didn’t know what to say. Congratulations didn’t quite seem right.

“So, we’re playing against each other again,” he tried with a smile.

“I s’pose.”

Cedric looked around at the carved pumpkins grinning down at him. Even with their eerie, glowing faces, they seemed more conversational than Harry.

As they reached the Entrance Hall, Cedric tried one last time. “So, tell me, how did you get your name in?”

“I didn’t.” Harry looked up at him, brilliant green eyes fiercely determined in the dim candlelight. “I was telling the truth.”

“Oh… okay.” 

Cedric wasn’t too sure about Professor Moody’s theory that someone was forcing Harry to compete in the tournament. It seemed a little far-fetched to him, especially here at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore’s supervision. He didn’t think Harry had any sort of desire to compete in the tournament. He even doubted Harry was interested in the prize money or the eternal glory to be won. But he knew that Harry had a knack for getting into trouble. He’d gotten into a duel just the other day. If Harry had seen getting his name into the goblet as another challenge to be overcome, maybe he had put his name in just to prove he could, and it had simply backfired on him.

“Well, then, see you.” Cedric took the path down to the Hufflepuff dormitories, leaving Harry to go upstairs to Gryffindor Tower alone.

Cedric reached the barrels that guarded the door to the Hufflepuff common room, but before he could knock in the correct pattern, the door swung open, and he was greeted with loud cheers and about three pairs of hands that pulled him through the tunnel. Any fear or anxiety he had about being the Hogwarts champion or having to share the Hogwarts championship was swept away by his classmates’ support.

The room was decorated in hastily painted banners and cuts of paper. There were even some hastily conjured yellow and black streamers, and a few students threw confetti at him. Professor Sprout stood in the center of the common room, round face red with pride and perhaps with a little too much mead. At least, Cedric thought that’s what he smelled as she pulled his face down to kiss his cheek.

“Congratulations!” she said. “We have plenty of food and I’m not imposing any sort of curfew. Is everything alright? You took some time coming back.”

“No, It’s perfect.” He wanted to tell her thank you, but he was mobbed by his Quidditch team. The sisters Amber and Pearl Lais dragged him to the table where Summerby stuffed a creampuff into his mouth before he could say anything. Cedric tried to ignore the bits of confetti that stuck to the creampuff.

Their Keeper, Jamie Nettles, clapped him on the shoulder. “Way to go, Captain. Hogwarts Champion!”

Cedric nearly choked on the creampuff, but managed to swallow it down, confetti and all, and grin at her.

“We can get Gryffindor back for sure,” Summerby said, and took a very large bite of a tart. “If anyone can beat Harry Potter, it’s Diggory!”

Cedric laughed, a little pink from all the attention, and reached for a biscuit, but the Lais sisters hoisted him up onto their shoulders, which was not an easy task. He was pretty tall and heavily built, but they were Beaters and had a fair bit of their own upper-body muscle.

The entire Hufflepuff common room was filled with students shouting his name as he was paraded around the room. He finally managed to get down, but neither the party nor the attention stopped. He spent all night with his friends, laughing and talking excitedly about the upcoming tournament. Sprout didn’t come to stop them. She stuck to her word about not imposing a curfew, and the common room was alive with celebration and conversation until finally the flowers in the windows opened up for the morning sun and the last of the students decided, finally, to turn in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated! I love hearing from you guys.


	18. The Weighing of the Wands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's first month as champion is rather rough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta ageofzero, who supports me no matter what i'm working on.
> 
> Things I have written: The first chapter of OotP, a chapter of HBP, and two chapters of DH  
> Things I haven't written: The next chapter of GoF
> 
> Why, O Muse, why do you punish me this way?

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Diggory,

I am delighted to inform you that your son, Cedric Diggory, has been selected to compete in the Triwizard Tournament as the Hogwarts school champion. He has set an excellent example for his peers as a high-achieving student and Prefect, and is the perfect choice to represent our school and his house.

Neither you nor his teachers are allowed to offer him help, but you are personally invited to watch the final task, which will take place on June 24th of this coming year. We hope to see you there.

Sincerely,  
Pomona Sprout  
Hufflepuff Head of House

\--- --- ---

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Potter,

I am writing to inform you that your son, Harry Potter, was selected by the Goblet of Fire to compete in the Triwizard Tournament as one of the Hogwarts champions. We are quite sure that Harry did not enter his name into the Goblet of Fire of his own accord, as it is completely unprecedented for the Goblet of Fire to choose two champions for one school.

As Harry is still underage, it is only by your permission that he may compete in the tournament. However, there exists a magically binding contract between those who are chosen by the Goblet of Fire and the Goblet of Fire itself. The students are required to compete as surely as if they have made an Unbreakable Vow. I cannot, as his teacher and Head of House, recommend barring Harry from the tournament.

The staff will, of course, be keeping a watchful eye on the tournament and its champions. We are intent on protecting them all from serious harm. We are not allowed to help the students with the tasks in any way, and neither are you. However, if Harry has shown us anything these last three years, it is that he is incredibly talented and repeatedly rises to overcome whatever challenges are presented to him.

You are personally invited to attend the final task, which will take place on June 24th of this coming year. This invitation does not need apply to parents--it is open to any members of his family--however I feel I must inform you that the invitation is limited to two guests.

Sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

\--- --- ---

Harry woke rather late on Sunday morning, feeling incredibly uneasy. He hadn’t had any nightmares, and his scar didn’t hurt--at least, not anymore than it usually did. It had become a dull ache in the front of his skull that he now only really noticed when he was incredibly tired or irritated. And it flared up the smallest bit when he remembered why he felt so uneasy, and that unease was overtaken by frustration with Ron.

Last night, when Harry had gotten back to the common room, Gryffindor had been in a rush to celebrate. Harry, not in the mood to celebrate at all, had finally managed to escape to his room and found Ron. He’d hoped for some sort of comfort, someone to believe him. Ron was his best friend, after all. But instead of understanding that Harry didn’t want any of this, Ron had accused Harry of putting his own name in the goblet for more fame and glory. Harry had called him an idiot and they hadn’t spoken after that.

Harry threw open the curtains of his bed, prepared to tell Ron off, to convince Ron he did not put his name in the Goblet of Fire and had no desire to compete in the Tournament, but Ron’s bed was empty. In fact, the entire dormitory was empty, apart from Neville, still snoring softly.

Harry dressed quickly and went downstairs to the common room, where he was greeted with a round of applause from those who were already back from breakfast. He flushed red with both embarrassment and irritation and tried to slip out of the common room. He wondered if he could make his way to Hagrid’s unnoticed and stomach a bit of rock-like scones for breakfast. As awful as they were, something heavy seemed the only way to keep his stomach from crawling its way up his throat.

Unfortunately, he was accosted by Dennis and Colin Creevey.

“Harry, d’you want to get breakfast?” Colin asked.

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” Harry lied.

“Where are you going then?” Dennis asked. He was so small, he practically had to skip just to keep up with Harry’s walking pace. “Can we come with?”

“Er--”

Harry was rescued by Hermione who had just come through the portrait.

“Harry,” she said quickly, “Dumbledore wants to see you.”

“Right, great,” he said. “See you later, guys.”

Colin and Dennis did not seem disappointed in the slightest. They waved at him excitedly as he left. “We’ll be here when you get back!” Dennis said.

Harry was quite glad when he was through the portrait and even more glad when Hermione opened up a napkin and gave him some toast.

“Thought you might like this,” she said.

“Yes, thanks.” Harry ate gratefully, and recapped what happened last night as quickly as he could. About halfway through the story, he realized they were nearly to the Great Hall. “Er--Hermione, I thought we were going to Dumbledore’s office.”

“Oh, no. I just knew Colin and Dennis would follow us if it were anything else.”

“Thanks.”

“Though, we can go to Dumbledore’s office if you want. I think your parents are there.”

Harry did not want to face James and Lily in the slightest. He’d written them a hasty letter last night, hoping to preempt anything McGonagall might write about the tournament. He shouldn’t be surprised that the first thing his parents did upon hearing about it was force their way into Dumbledore’s office.

“I’d rather not,” he said as he and Hermione slipped past the Great Hall and out onto the grounds. He wondered if his parents had believed him when he told them he didn’t do it. “You know I didn’t do it right?”

“Well that was obvious,” Hermione said. “The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name! But it certainly couldn’t have been a student who put your name in. So it had to--”

“Have you seen Ron?” Harry interrupted.

“Oh. Er, yes. He was at breakfast.”

“Does he still think I entered myself?”

Hermione fidgeted with the fringe of her scarf. “I don’t think so. Not really.”

“What’s ‘not really’ mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s jealous.”

Harry let that sink in, and it only added fire to his frustration. Ron was jealous of him? Harry suddenly felt quite glad he hadn’t had a chance to tell Ron about the dress robes his father had sent yesterday. As soon as he got back into the dorm, he would bury them under his bed.

“If Ron wants to make himself look like a prat in front of the whole school, he’s welcome to. I don’t need any of this.”

Hermione shook her head. “It’s always you who gets the attention--and I know you don’t ask for it--but Ron’s got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you’re his best friend, and you’re really famous. He’s always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many.”

Harry snorted. He would gladly trade places with Ron any day. He never asked for a scar or a small family. He never asked for life-threatening situations or to be the star on the Quidditch team. Hermione did have a point that things happened to him, but why would anyone actually want those things to happen to them? His nightmares, the pain in his scar, the worried look his parents got when he told them about his dreams…. He wondered if his parents looked like that now, and what Dumbledore was telling them. Probably all the things he’d said last night, and how there was nothing he could do. Harry had to compete.

“Well tell Ron from me--”

“I’m not telling Ron anything,” she said. “You tell him yourself. That’s the only way this gets resolved.”

Harry had no intention of telling Ron anything until Ron apologized, and Hermione didn’t bring it up again.

“Who do you think put your name in?” Hermione asked as they reached the Black Lake.

“I dunno. I bet that’s what Mum and Dad are trying to figure out right now.” Harry sighed and rubbed his scar. He probably should go see his parents, but he really didn’t want to. He knew they’d be more encouraging than Hermione had been. They’d tell him it would be alright, and that he would be just fine, that Dumbledore was looking out for him. But he’d know they were as worried as he was, because he knew his parents.

Harry kicked a rock into the water. He watched the ripples go out into the lake and be pushed back with new ripples as the Giant Squid’s tentacles grazed the surface, searching for the food that had disturbed the surface of the water. Harry wondered if he’d have to fight it for one of the tasks. Hermione had said something about a rampaging cockatrice. At least fighting monsters was something Harry had a fair amount of experience with.

Eventually, he and Hermione made their way back to the tower. When he was greeted with a cheer from the common room, Harry decided he should finish his homework in his dormitory.

It was, thankfully, empty. Not even Neville was there. The only sound was tapping on the glass, and Harry found a very irritated Hedwig on the window sill. She dropped four parchment envelopes onto his pillow, then flew back to him and nipped his finger. She was clearly not happy he hadn’t gone down to breakfast to receive his post.

Harry found some sweets left over from the candy trolley in his trunk and gave some of the better-looking Every Flavor Jelly Beans to Hedwig. The first three seemed fine, but the fourth one was not toffee, as Harry had thought, but ear wax. Hedwig clicked her beak irritably and flew out the window.

Harry had no desire to read the letters. They would very likely only irritate him further, whether they were encouraging or congratulatory. He didn’t want to hear either from his family. He didn’t want to know how worried his parents were or how thrilled Sirius might be.

But it was that or work on a dismal star chart alone, so Harry chose the lesser of two horrors and began with the small envelope addressed in his mother’s handwriting.

_Dear Harry,_

_We’ve just heard from Professor McGonagall what happened and we’re going to see Dumbledore about it immediately. We’ll get this sorted. I promise._

_Love,  
Mum and Dad_

Harry imagined they did not get it sorted, otherwise Dumbledore would have taken care of it last night. There wasn’t any getting out of competing, as far as he could tell. He expected that’s just what Lily had written in her second letter.

Harry opened the next letter from his mother, which was a bit thicker, but he didn’t think it would hold anything particularly helpful.

_Dear Harry,_

_We’ve just finished meeting with Dumbledore, and Hedwig’s come by his office. I think she’s looking for you, but I’m going to take this opportunity to write a quick letter explaining what I can._

_I’m sure Dumbledore’s already told you, but there is unfortunately nothing we can do to get you out of the tournament. You’ll have to compete, and I wish there was more we could do for you. I know I wouldn’t usually say this, but rules be damned, your father and I will help you in whatever way we can. It doesn’t matter to us whether you win or lose this tournament, we just want you to come out alright. You’ve proven yourself over and over again, so I know you can succeed._

_You’re probably wondering who put your name in the cup. Your father seems to think you’re quite capable of doing it yourself, but I know you wouldn’t do something like that. I wish I could tell you that Dumbledore has already figured it out, but unfortunately we are all at a loss. He has promised to keep a closer eye on everyone who was at the school that night and to keep your father and I informed._

_Your father and I both send our love. Be safe._

_Mum and Dad_

Harry set the letter down and stared up at the red canopy over his bed. It was as unhelpful as he had expected, but it was a little more enlightening than he’d thought it would be. His mother had said far more in her worry than she usually did. Like her letter had after his duel with Malfoy, and her duel with Barty Crouch, Jr.

It reminded him of his time at the Leaky Cauldron last year, when he’d overheard his mother telling the Weasleys and Longbottoms how worried she was that Regulus Black had escaped Azkaban to come after Harry. Either now, she was too worried to even bother trying to hide it, or she was keeping her promise to be honest with Harry. Either way, he was getting what he’d asked for, even if it wasn’t truly what he wanted.

It worried him that his parents and Dumbledore had no idea who’d put his name in the cup. That meant something was happening at Hogwarts that Dumbledore wasn’t aware of. That scared Harry more than anything else.

Harry grabbed the envelope with Remus’s handwriting on it next. He wasn’t quite ready to stomach Sirius’s probable congratulations just yet. He couldn’t imagine Remus would have more insight than Dumbledore, but maybe, just maybe Remus would have some help to offer him. 

The letter was surprisingly short, yet far more encouraging than his parents’ had been.

_Dear Harry,_

_I’ve just heard from your parents what happened. How are you holding up? I know you’ll get through this. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help._

_Love,  
Uncle Remus_

Harry wasn’t sure why it was more encouraging until, upon reading it again, he realized it was because Remus had asked him how he was. It wasn’t that Harry blamed his parents for not asking. They were concerned with getting him out of this alive and finding out who did it. That wasn’t a bad thing to be concerned with. It was exactly what Harry was concerned with. But it was very like Remus to remember to ask after his well-being.

Unable to resist such an earnest and gentle inquiry, Harry immediately responded to Remus’s letter. He told Remus everything, from getting taken into the room with the champions to his fight with Ron and even his conversation with Hermione. Writing it all out made Harry feel a lot better, like he could finally handle whatever Sirius had to say.

He folded up his letter to Remus and opened his letter from Sirius.

_Dear Harry,_

_I’m sure you’ve gotten all the worry out of your parents that you can manage. By now I expect they’ve stormed the battlements of Hogwarts and are demanding Dumbledore remove you from the tournament, but Remus and I’ve talked about it and gone through my family’s library. There’s a lot of old books and records in there I never paid much attention to when I was younger. From what we read, it seems the contract is pretty tightly binding and I’m afraid there’s no getting out of it._

_I’m sure you didn’t put your name in. Not that I’m saying you couldn’t have figured out a way to do it, nor am I saying you’re not worthy enough to be picked by the Goblet of Fire. I wouldn’t doubt you’re the best out of the other champions for a minute. But I’ll be first in line to hex whoever put you in this tournament._

_Let us know what the task is as soon as you know. I know the first task is supposed to be a surprise, but there’s a lot of cheating in the tradition of the tournament, so I’m sure someone will let you know. I’ll sniff around and see what I can find._

_Keep your chin up and your wand at hand._

_Love,  
Sirius_

Harry read the letter three times to make sure Sirius hadn’t once offered congratulations on being selected to compete in the Triwizard Tournament, but it truly wasn’t there. If even Sirius wasn’t excited about the tournament, then Harry really was in deep trouble. He’d known that, but between his parents’ worry, Remus’s concern, and Sirius’s lack of cheer, it was beginning to sink in just how much danger he was really in.

He didn’t even hear the door to the dormitory open. It wasn’t until Ron was seated on the bed across from him that Harry realized he was no longer alone. Harry didn’t know what to say to Ron, considering the last time they’d spoken, Harry had called Ron stupid for believing he’d put his name in the goblet. Harry wanted to throw the letters at Ron, tell him he didn’t do this, and he didn’t want this, and here’s my whole family not being proud of me, either. But he held back.

“Have a nice breakfast?” he asked stiffly.

Ron didn’t answer. “I expect that’s Sirius congratulating you then, is it?”

Harry crumpled the letter in his hand and threw it at Ron. “Yeah, he’s real thrilled.” And he drew his curtains closed. He didn’t want to listen to Ron’s snide comments anymore than he wanted to hear Gryffindor congratulate him. Harry spent the rest of the day in his bed. There wasn’t anyone he wanted to talk to. He couldn’t even manage to get out and finish his star chart.

He did, however, write a brief reply to his parents, letting them know he was alright, and that he wasn’t too worried. He didn’t feel any point in telling them how upset he was. They had enough to worry about. With Sirius, he told him he wished he knew who had put him up for it, but no one seemed to have any answers. He promised to write as soon as he knew what the first task might be.

Harry didn’t quite feel like getting out of bed and up to the owlery to send the letters, but decided they could wait until the morning. It would give him an excuse not to talk to Ron at breakfast. 

\--- --- ---

As the week wore on, things didn’t get any better for Harry. Apart from Gryffindor, who was thrilled that Harry had somehow gotten his name in the goblet, the entire school seemed to resent him for it.

Hufflepuff was usually friendly with Gryffindors, and Harry often partnered with Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley in Herbology, but all of Hufflepuff had turned against him, accusing him of stealing the small bit of glory they so rarely got. He didn’t really blame all of Hufflepuff, but he had hoped that the people he knew personally might treat him alright. Harry should’ve expected that if Ron, of all people, didn’t believe him, surely his classmates he only saw in one class wouldn’t either. But even Susan Bones laughed when Harry’s Bouncing Bulb wriggled out of his hands during class and smacked him in the face, and he’d grown up knowing her.

The Slytherins were predictably nasty. Harry hadn’t expected any sort of support from Malfoy and his friends. When they reached Hagrid’s hut for Care of Magical Creatures, Malfoy was already there with a sneer on his face.

“Ah, look, boys,” he nudged Crabbe and Goyle with his elbow, “it’s the champion. Better get an autograph now, because I doubt he’s going to be around much longer. Half the Triwizard champions have died. How long d’you think you’re going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task’s my bet.”

Harry might’ve hit Malfoy if he’d said much more, but Hagrid’s arrival stalled any further fighting between them.

“The skrewts ‘ave taken ter killing each other because they’ve got too much energy in ‘em. Best thing for ‘em is to take ‘em fer a walk.”

The entire class protested, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike.

“Jus’ put the lead roun’ the middle,” Hagrid said, and demonstrated for them. “Er--yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves fer this, jus’ as an extra precaution, like. Harry--you come here an’ help me with this big one.”

Harry was not too happy to wrap a skrewt in a collar and leash, but he did as Hagrid asked and stepped forward, making sure to pull his gloves on tight.

“So, yer competin’ in the tournament.”

“Guess so,” Harry said, afraid to take his eyes off of the skrewt.

“No idea who put yeh in fer it, Harry?”

“You believe I didn’t do it?”

“Course I do.” Hagrid pulled the leash tight, and Harry was grateful that Hagrid didn’t hand it off to him. He sighed heavily and watched the other students, who were all having a rather difficult time with their skrewts. Some were even being dragged across the lawn. “They look like they’re havin’ fun, don’t they?”

Harry hoped Hagrid was talking about the skrewts.

\--- --- ---

The number of people who believed Harry hadn’t put his own name in the Goblet of Fire doubled at dinner that evening. Since Ron was still not speaking to him, and Hermione had to work in the library, Harry didn’t have a wide range of friends to choose from for dinner companions. He ended up next to Neville and Ginny, despite the Creevey brothers’ enthusiastic invitation to sit with them.

“You alright, Harry?” Neville asked as he ate his way through a second helping of pudding. “You’ve hardly touched dinner.”

Harry took a bite in protest, but nothing really tasted right. He glanced to the other end of the table, where Ron was sitting with Dean and Seamus.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Ron doesn’t think you did it,” Ginny tried. “Not really.”

That was what Hermione had said. “Not really.”

Harry shoved his potatoes around on his plate. “Well I wish he’d say so.”

“I don’t think you did it either, Harry,” Neville said. “Does Dumbledore know who did?”

“No.”

Ginny chewed on her lower lip. “D’you want to play Quidditch? I can ask Fred and George if they’ll get a scrimmage together.”

Harry wished a Quidditch scrimmage would fix his problem. What he really wanted was for Ron to apologize and for his parents to write and say they figured out who’d put his name in the cup, and he didn’t have to compete after all. He didn’t think either of those would be happening any time soon.

“Maybe this weekend,” he said, though he didn’t really feel much like flying. It was nice of Ginny to try.

Even though Harry was glad of Neville and Ginny’s support, it didn’t fix his problem. The entire school was angry with him. It wasn’t surprising from Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Hufflepuff had Cedric to rally behind, and Slytherin would take any opportunity to further their rivalry with Gryffindor. Harry had hoped that at least the Ravenclaw students might support him. But Ginny had heard from Luna that most of Ravenclaw was convinced Harry had pulled this stunt for a little extra fame. Harry wondered what Cho thought of him. Maybe if she knew he hadn’t done it….

Really, what Harry wanted was for Ron to believe him. That’s what best friends were for. Harry felt like surely he could endure any of it, even Malfoy’s sneers, as long as Ron was beside him. But it didn’t look like their friendship was going to be repaired any time soon.

On the second Friday since the tournament, Harry was intent on skiving off Potions. At lunch, he told Hermione he was just going back up to the common room, or maybe he’d go down to Hagrid’s hut instead.

“You can’t just ditch,” Hermione protested, a little louder than Harry would have liked.

“I can’t stand another class with Malfoy, or with Snape breathing down my neck, threatening to see how Hogwarts’ second champion handles poison.”

“Snape’ll give you detention for weeks.”

Harry let out a frustrated grunt and agreed that two hours with Snape now was better than endless Saturdays with Snape.

When he and Hermione reached the dungeons, the Slytherin students were waiting outside. There was something on their chest that was glowing in the dimness, and Harry squinted to read them. They all said, “Support Cedric Diggory--The REAL Hogwarts Champion!”

That alone wasn’t enough to bother Harry. That, on top of everything else, was so small. And anyway, the way Moody had explained it, Cedric truly was the real Hogwarts champion. Harry had been entered under a fourth school, the only one in his category, so the goblet had been forced to choose him. It didn’t make him a champion at all.

“Like them, Potter?” asked Malfoy.

“Ignore him,” Hermione whispered next to him.

“That’s not all they do! Look!” Malfoy pressed on the badge and in a swirl of color and light that Dean Thomas would have been proud of, the message changed. Now it read, “Potter Stinks.”

The rest of the Slytherins laughed and changed their badges, too. Harry’s face was flushed red, but he said nothing. He really didn’t expect anything less from the Slytherins or Malfoy. He glanced to Ron, who was leaning against the wall beside Dean and Seamus. He wasn’t laughing, but it burned Harry, more than anything those badges said, that Ron wasn’t sticking up for him.

Hermione took Harry’s arm and tried to lead him past the Slytherins. “Very funny,” she said to Malfoy. “That’s real witty of you. Never seen something so intelligent come from you before.”

“Want one, Granger?” Malfoy pulled one out of his pocket and held it out to Hermione. “I’ve got loads. But don’t touch my hand, now. I’ve just washed it, you see; don’t want a Mudblood sliming it up.”

Harry’s weeks of frustration reached its boiling point. He felt like he could perform an excellent Cruciatus Curse on Malfoy right about now, but he also remembered his parents’ warning to stay out of duels. So Harry did something that would have made Sirius proud. It was both raw expression of passion and slipped through a very thin loophole in his mother’s admonishment not to duel Malfoy. 

Harry punched Malfoy in the face. 

Malfoy got out his wand as Hermione reached forward to pull Harry off of Malfoy. Malfoy shouted, “ _Densaugeo_!” just in time to catch Hermione in the face. She stumbled backwards and covered her mouth with her hands. Harry pulled out his wand, not daring to turn his back on Malfoy. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ron hurry forward to help Hermione, but she was covering her mouth and shaking her head.

“What’s all this about?” Snape said, suddenly coming around the corner. What perfect timing, Harry thought.

The Slytherins all clamored to give an explanation, and in the chaos, Snape pointed at Malfoy. “Explain.”

“Potter attacked me, sir.” Harry realized Malfoy was holding his nose and blood was leaking through his fingers. “He hit me, like some wild animal.”

“I was provoked,” Harry said, but he felt no guilt or anger. Only deep satisfaction that came from the physical venting of his frustrations and the knowledge that he’d wounded Malfoy.

“Detention, Potter,” Snape said. “Malfoy, hospital wing.”

“Malfoy hexed Hermione,” Ron interrupted. “Look!” He pulled Hermione’s hands away from her face, revealing her front teeth, grown nearly to her collar now, and still growing. Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode gasped with silent giggles, pointing at her from behind Snape’s back.

“I see no difference,” Snape said.

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears, and she ran out of the corridor.

Ron and Harry were, for one moment, of a single mind, and shouted at Snape. Harry let out all foul manner of words he’d learned from Sirius and his mother, and he could only assume Ron’s vocabulary had come from the twins. It was lucky they were shouting on top of each other, otherwise Snape might have actually been able to distinguish the insults from each other.

“Enough,” he said sharply. “Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention for you, too, Weasley. Now get inside or it will be a week’s worth of detentions.”

Harry walked into class and slammed his bag down on his table. For a moment, he thought Ron was going to stop right next to him, but Ron went over to Dean and Seamus’s table, where he sat, face red and hands shaking. Ron was just as furious, but it wasn’t going to bring him any closer to Harry after all.

Harry just barely avoided feeling sorry for himself by channelling all his anger at Snape. He would never understand why Snape treated Malfoy the way he did, and why Snape hated Harry so intensely. Harry knew Sirius and Snape had a bad history, and Snape blamed some of that bad history on James, and transferred that to Harry, but Harry didn’t understand what Sirius’s mistakes had to do with his dad. He only knew that none of that had anything to do with him and he felt nothing but fury as he got out his potions ingredients.

“You should all have prepared your antidote recipes by now,” Snape said. “I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one.” His eyes lingered on Harry, and Harry had the brief thought that if he brewed his antidote wrong, if Snape poisoned him and he died for it, he would get out of the tournament, Ron would feel guilty, and Snape would get in trouble.

He also thought it would be very easy to take his cauldron up to the front of the class and bring it down on Snape’s head.

Harry was prevented from thinking further on either course of action by a knock on the dungeon door. Anne Thelborne stepped inside.

“Sorry to interrupt, Professor,” she said, as she walked to the front of the classroom. She handed a slip of parchment to Snape. “I’m afraid I’ve got to take Harry Potter upstairs.”

Snape looked at Anne with such dislike that Harry wondered if Snape just hated everyone. Anne was nothing but a good student, a model prefect, and if Snape didn’t like even her….

“Potter has two hours of Potions to complete. He will come upstairs when this class is finished.”

Anne glanced at Harry briefly, then back at Snape. “It’s all the champions, Professor. I’m sure it’s something to do with their task in a couple weeks.”

“Very well,” Snape said. “Potter, leave your things here. I want you back down here later to test your antidote.”

“I’m afraid he has to take his things with him, Professor. All the champions--”

“Very well.” It sounded like a very petulant “Fine, then.” Snape’s fingernails clicked irritably on the table top. “Potter, take your bag and get out of my sight.”

Harry was more than grateful to leave. As it turned out, he’d gotten everything he could have had if he’d only ditched class--no Potions with the Slytherins, no poison from Snape, and another detention. The only downside was he tried to catch Ron’s eye, but Ron was staring very furiously into his cauldron.

Harry quickly shouldered his bag and followed Anne upstairs.

“They told us we weren’t supposed to know anything about the first task,” Harry said.

“Oh, I know,” Anne said. “It’s actually photos for the Daily Prophet but I didn’t think you’d like to hear that in front of the Slytherins.”

Harry suddenly felt about three kilograms lighter. “Thanks.” He adjusted his bag of potions supplies, careful not to break any of the vials he’d hastily shoved into it. 

“Though I’m betting those fifty points gone are your fault?” She pointed to the container of rubies as they passed the Great Hall. It was significantly less full than it had been at lunch.

“Er--yeah. Sorry.”

Anne sighed. “I’m not a professor, Harry, but I do wish you’d stay out of trouble. Gryffindors aren’t known for breaking rules. You’re sort of giving the house a bad reputation.”

Harry could think of at least three former Gryffindors that would strongly disagree with that statement, but he kept his mouth shut. Harry was tired of telling people it wasn’t his fault his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, because no one would listen. He doubted Anne would believe him, since his best friend didn’t even believe him.

Anne pushed open a door for him. “Well, good luck,” she said, and left him.

It was an unused classroom, but the desks had been moved aside and a length of velvet draped over the blackboard. Three of the desks had been set aside and also covered in velvet. There were five chairs, for the five judges, Harry guessed, behind the velvet-covered tables. Maybe Anne had been right after all when she said this was for the first task.

But then Ludo Bagman spotted Harry and came bounding over. “Harry! Here he is, champion number four! In you come, nothing to worry about. It’s just the wand weighing ceremony. The rest of the judges will be here in a moment.”

Harry glanced around at the other champions in the room. Krum was leaning against a desk, arms folded, staring moodily at the ground and talking to no one. Cedric and Fleur were talking, and Harry was startled to see Fleur smiling. He wasn’t sure he’d seen her smile yet. She laughed and tossed her silver hair over her shoulder so that it caught the light. There was a photographer nearby, eyeing her instead of the witch in magenta robes he was supposed to be talking to. To be fair, the witch in magenta robes seemed to be eyeing Harry in a similar way.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Bagman was saying to Harry. “The expert’s upstairs now with Dumbledore. It’s just to make sure your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they’re your most important tools in the task ahead. Then some photos with, ah, here she is!” The woman in magenta had abandoned her conversation with the photographer and come over to Bagman and Harry. 

“This is Rita Skeeter.”

Harry startled and took a closer look at the woman in magenta. She had blonde curls and a heavy jaw. Her glasses were jeweled on the ends and her nails long, red, and jeweled as well. She smiled at Harry and her teeth reminded Harry of the crocodile her bag was probably made from.

“I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?” she said to Bagman. “The youngest champion, you know… to add a bit of color?”

“Certainly!” said Bagman. “That is, if Harry doesn’t mind.”

“I mind,” Harry said quickly, as cold as he could manage. He may have felt insecure about being a champion and unsure what he was doing here with these champions who were far more skilled than he was, but he knew that he did not like Rita Skeeter. She’d insulted both his parents and Remus, and he wasn’t about to give her an interview.

But his irritation didn’t seem to bother Rita. She laughed and opened the nearest door. “Not to worry, Harry, I don’t bite. Let’s just get away from all this noise, shall we?” Before Harry could protest, she had his arm in her talon-like grip and pulled him into a broom cupboard.

“Cosy, isn’t it?” she said, and sat down on an upturned bucket. Harry stood awkwardly between a mop and a shelf of cloths and quills.

“You won’t mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill?” she asked. “It leaves me free to talk to you normally.”

Harry didn’t know what a Quick-Quotes Quill was, but he gestured to the shelf right next to his shoulder. “There’s a quill right here.”

She laughed and set her pad of parchment down on a crate of All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. “You’ve got a sense of humor.” She pulled a long, emerald green quill from her purse, touched its tip to her mouth, then left the quill to hover over the paper. “Testing… my name is Rita Skeeter, _Daily Prophet_ reporter.”

The quill scribbled quickly, far faster than Harry could write. When he glanced at the parchment, it read, “Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations--”

“Lovely,” said Rita, and she ripped the top sheet off and put it in her crocodile bag. “Now, Harry, what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?”

“I didn’t,” Harry said, eyes on the quill. 

“There’s no need to be scared of getting into trouble. Don’t worry about that. Our readers love a rebel.”

Harry watched the quill scribble: _“An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes are so much like his mother’s, full of fire, ferocity, and a touch of fear.”_

“How do you feel about the tasks ahead?” Rita Skeeter asked. “Excited? Nervous?”

“I think your quill already answered that,” Harry said.

“Just ignore the quill,” and she repeated her question. She added, “Champions have died in the past, haven’t they? Have you thought about that at all?”

“Er--”

“Of course, you’ve looked death in the face before, haven’t you? How would you say that’s affected you?”

“I was one. I don’t remember it.” Harry didn’t feel like sharing the strangely clear visions he’d had of that night with this woman who had consistently insulted his family in the paper.

“Do you think it might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think perhaps you were tempted to enter the tournament because--”

“I didn’t enter.”

“--because you feel some sort of calling to live up to your parents’ names?”

“No,” Harry said, and pushed open the cupboard door. He looked down at the quill, which was in the process of writing, _“His green eyes glint with genuine gallantry as our conversation turns to the heroism of his parents’ past.”_

“Enough about my eyes,” Harry said. “Go talk about Cedric’s curls or Krum’s crooked nose or Fleur’s--”

“There you are, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a wide smile.

“Dumbledore!” Rita exclaimed, quickly snatching up her purse. Harry noticed the quill and parchment were gone. “How are you?” She stepped past him and out of the broom cupboard before Harry could even squeeze through. “I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards Conference?”

“Enchantingly nasty,” Dumbledore said. “I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat.”

Rita did not look scolded in the slightest. Instead she laughed. “I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, and that many wizards in the street--”

“I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita,” and Dumbledore gave her a slight bow, “but I’m afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard.”

Harry quickly slipped past Dumbledore and Rita, for once eager to rejoin Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor Krum. They were all sitting on one side of the velvet table, opposite the judges. Harry took the empty seat next to Cedric and Dumbledore sat next to Mr. Crouch. Rita Skeeter sat in the corner.

“May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?” Dumbledore said to the champions. He gestured to the elderly wizard at the end of the table. “He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament.”

Harry had first met Ollivander when he was eleven and gotten his wand in Diagon Alley. Ollivander had rather dramatically announced that Harry’s wand shared a twin wand core with Voldemort’s wand--phoenix feathers of the same phoenix. He’d also seen Ollivander just last summer when he went with Remus to replace the wand that Barty Crouch, Jr. had stolen.

“Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” Mr. Ollivander walked into the empty space between champions and judges, and Fleur stood. She walked, as gracefully as ever, across the three paces between her and Ollivander, and presented him with her wand.

Ollivander examined it closely and twisted it between his fingers, then held it up closely, squinting at the wood. “Nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood… and containing, dear me….”

“An ‘air from ze ‘ead of a veela,” Fleur said proudly. “One of my grandmuzzer’s.”

Harry thought that explained a lot about Fleur.

“Yes,” Mr. Ollivander said, “I’ve never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands… however, to each her own, and if this suits you….” Mr. Ollivander examined the wand closely, running his fingers along every curl in the wood, then muttered, “ _Orchideous_ ,” and a collection of blue flowers burst from the tip of the wand. “Very well, in fine working order.” Mr. Ollivander handed the wand and the flowers to Fleur. “Mr. Diggory, you next.”

As Ollivander took Cedric’s wand, excitement lit his very old eyes, like when he had begun searching through his wands for the perfect one for Harry, and like when he had presented Remus with his new wand. Mr. Ollivander loved the craft of wand-making so clearly, and seemed particularly proud of his own creations as he examined Cedric’s wand. “One of mine, isn’t it?” he asked, almost like a child who has caught his first puffskein. “Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn… must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches… ash… pleasantly springy.” Mr. Ollivander tapped the wand in the air as if he were setting the rhythm for an orchestra, and with each tap the wand emitted a silver smoke ring. Satisfied, Mr. Ollivander returned the wand to Cedric then said, “Mr. Krum, if you please.”

Viktor Krum, with absolutely none of Fleur’s grace, walked the few steps to Mr. Ollivander and thrust his wand at him.

“Ah, a Gregorovitch creation, unless I’m much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I… however….” Mr. Ollivander tried to bend the wand between his hands, but it wouldn’t give. “Rather thicker than one usually sees, and quite rigid… ten and a quarter… hornbeam and dragon heartstring?” he asked, and Krum nodded. “ _Avis_!” and there was a bang like that from a cannon, and several birds went soaring out the window.

“Very good,” Mr. Ollivander said, and gave the wand back to Viktor. “Which leaves… Mr. Potter. I was not expecting to see you again so soon,” he said with a small smile.

Harry wondered if Mr. Ollivander ever expected to see his customers much more than once. He got up and handed over his wand, waiting anxiously for Mr. Ollivander to pronounce in front of Rita Skeeter, the judges, and the other champions that his wand was unusable, too ineffective for the tournament. Or, worse, that it was connected to Voldemort’s wand. He thought Rita Skeeter would just love that.

But Mr. Ollivander did not say anything. He examined Harry’s wand with none of the commentary he’d give the others. He did not mention that it was holly or anything about it’s core. He took longer than he had with any others, but in complete silence. Finally, he produced a fountain of wine from the tip of the wand and returned it to Harry, announcing it was still in perfect condition.

“Thank you all,” said Dumbledore, and stood. “You may go back to your lessons now--or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end--”

“Photos, Dumbledore,” Bagman interrupted, and the cameraman jumped to his feet.

“Yes, let’s do those first,” said Rita, who was still staring at Harry. “And perhaps some individual shots?”

Harry might have preferred to let Snape poison him then endure photos with the champions. He tried to stay behind Dumbledore, and he noticed that even Viktor Krum seemed keen on staying towards the back, which seemed odd, since he must have been used to the attention as the star player of the Bulgarian team. The photographer kept pulling Fleur to the front, and then Rita Skeeter would pull Harry to the front, no matter how many times Harry tried to slip towards the back. Then she wanted individuals of each champion, and by the time Harry finally made it down to dinner, another hour had past, and he was pretty sure that the only upside was that the Great Hall would be empty.

It wasn’t entirely empty, but Hermione wasn’t there, so Harry sat alone. He ate rather slowly, knowing that eating alone was better than facing Ron in the dormitory. Eventually, though, he had to make his way upstairs. It was such a strange and foreign feeling to him, to dread going to a place he very nearly called “home.”

Ron wasn’t in the common room, and Harry hoped maybe he wouldn’t be in the dormitory, but when he opened the door, Ron was sitting in his bed.

“You’ve had an owl,” Ron said.

Harry looked at his pillow, where Hedwig had begun to nest. The letter beside her was not in a script Harry was familiar with.

“And we’ve got to do our detentions tomorrow night. Snape’s dungeon.”

Then Ron closed his curtains. Harry thought about opening them, and demanding Ron and him talk. Or opening them and hitting Ron in the face. It had felt rather good to punch Malfoy and he thought it would be just as satisfying to do the same to Ron. In the end, though, he did neither, and took the letter from Hedwig. She nipped his finger affectionately, then went back to her nest. Harry hoped her talons didn’t tear his pillow.

He opened the letter and was surprised to see Regulus’s signature at the bottom. Regulus hadn’t written to him all year, or at all last summer. They’d barely spoken. What could Regulus possibly have to say to him?

_Harry--_

_I can’t say everything I would like to in a letter, and I don’t have much time before Sirius returns. He and Remus have been whispering about something, and I’m embarrassed to say I got curious. I often snooped through Sirius’s things when we were younger, in an effort to know him better, so I did as I used to, and searched his letters for information. I’ve just found out about you competing in the Triwizard Tournament, and I don’t doubt for a moment that this is an attempt on your life._

_I wish I could say what your family has said, that you’re safe with Dumbledore and Alastor Moody, but it seems that their presence has not deterred this person so far. I worry about what they might continue to do while their presence remains undetected. Be on guard._

_There is more I would like to discuss with you. Try to meet me in the Gryffindor Tower common room at one o’clock on the 19th of November. Please write back as soon as possible to let me know if you can make that happen._

_\--Regulus Arcturus Black_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> headcanons, comments, questions, critiques, and even recipes always appreciated!


	19. The Hungarian Horntail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny gets to go on her first trip to Hogsmeade. Harry gets some advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the posting of this chapter, I'm officially two weeks behind my personal deadlines I set to keep this story updated once a week. So please pray to God or the Muses or JKR that I can bust out like five chapters next week and that my beta will be able to edit next week's in time. ageofzero is amazing, and I wish I could pay them, but the truth is their job comes first so I gotta try to get stuff done way early so we all have time to edit and i'm failing at that I'm so sorry OTL
> 
> But assuming I can actually finish next week's chapter, it's gonna be a good one, I promise.
> 
> This week is good too. Also, hello, I made a new OC. That brings my total number of side HP characters up to five. They all have intricate backstories and plots and I hate myself for them. (Anne Scrimgeour, Theodore Nott, Anne and Christian Thelborne, and now... Helen.)

Ginny never did get a Quidditch scrimmage together with Harry and her brothers, since Harry spent a good portion of Saturday scrubbing cauldrons in the dungeon with Ron and did not have time to escape his homework. He spent the rest of his weekend with Hermione, practicing Summoning Charms, and from what Ginny could gather, failing miserably at them.

As disappointed as she was that she didn’t get to spend a Saturday afternoon with Harry, and even though she was so desperately taking Hermione’s advice to just talk to him like a normal person, she understood that Harry had a lot to worry about. The first task of the tournament was less than two weeks away. And on top of the tournament, and his fight with Ron (which, to the disappointment of everyone in the Gryffindor common room, was not in the least bit mitigated by a shared detention), Harry now had to deal with what became known as simply “the article.”

Rita Skeeter’s interview with Harry dominated her piece on the tournament. In fact, “Victor Crumm” and “Flure Delacur” were only mentioned in the last line, and Cedric wasn’t mentioned at all. Of course the school and their international guests blamed Harry for this oversight, and some, particularly Draco Malfoy, had become keen on quoting the article at him.

Ginny would often hear a shout from across the hall of, “Hey, Potter, are you going to actually finish the first task, or are you going to let your mum do it for you?”

Or, “Potter, when are you planning on boldly staring death in the face? Is it before or after you pass out?”

But the worst part for Ginny was a section where Rita Skeeter had interviewed Colin Creevey.

“Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts,” she wrote. “His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.”

Malfoy’s response was, “Potter, you’re in the top of the class? Or is this a school you and Longbottom have set up together?”

Ginny knew Hermione was not like _that_ with Harry. She knew Hermione was only Harry’s friend, but that didn’t stop the article from hurting. She’d liked Harry for a very long time, and it was painful to think of him liking anyone else.

Then on Friday, Ginny was on her way to Defense Against the Dark Arts and passed Harry on his way to Potions. She wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what. Then she saw Cho Chang behind Harry.

“Hey--Harry!” Cho called.

Harry turned quickly and shouted back, “Yeah, that’s right! I’ve just woken up from another nightmare and I’m going to go cry about it in a letter to my Mum!”

“No--it was just--you dropped your quill.”

Ginny couldn’t help but feel a little bit pleased as Cho awkwardly handed Harry his quill, and Harry, red-faced, hastily stuffed it into his bag.

“Er… good luck on Tuesday. I hope you do well,” she said.

And Harry mumbled a thanks and hastily disappeared to class. Ginny was very nearly late for stopping to watch the exchange, but as she slid into her seat beside her friend Helen, she really didn’t care. 

At least she had her first trip to Hogsmeade on Saturday to look forward to. The entire third-year class was buzzing about it. The tournament seemed so irrelevant to them by comparison that if you asked a third-year student if they were excited for next week, they were just as likely to stare at you and ask what was happening next week as they were to remember that the Triwizard Tournament had the first task on Tuesday.

It was, coincidentally, the first time Neville was allowed in Hogsmeade. Last year he’d been forbidden to go since Regulus Black was on the loose. This year, his parents very nearly had barred him again, since Regulus Black had not been caught, and now Barty Crouch, Jr. was around as well. But after a lot of convincing on Neville’s part, and a few letters exchanged with Dumbledore, Alice and Frank Longbottom had finally signed the permission slip.

Ginny had, once upon a time, hopes of Fred and George taking her to all the places they’d eagerly talked about when they’d come home from their third year at Hogwarts. She imagined they’d take her to Zonko’s and buy her a whole set of nose-biting teacups to share with her friends and a large bag of cockroach clusters to drop in Ron’s jumpers.

But now that she was at Hogwarts, she’d found that Fred and George had replaced her. They’d never say that or even think it, but Ginny thought it. They had their friend Lee Jordan who she tried very hard to like, but had always disliked for the simple reason that he had taken her place as the accessory to Fred and George’s escapades.

So knowing that they’d be off to Hogsmeade with Lee, and as she had no intention of being their tag-a-long little sister, she made plans to go with Helen.

They had a good time together in Honeydukes, and Helen bought so many candies for the two of them to share that Ginny completely forgot about her brothers. Helen had a wonderful talent for making Ginny feel like she was one-of-a-kind and not one-of-seven.

Ginny dragged Helen through Zonko’s. Helen didn’t have the penchant for mischief that Ginny had learned from her brothers, but Helen had a good sense of humor. She reminded Ginny a bit of Percy, before Percy got obsessed with studying for his O.W.L.s and forgot everything else. So when Ginny offered Helen a nose-biting teacup and said, “Smell that tea, isn’t it lovely?” Helen laughed when it nipped her nose and handed it back to Ginny with a smile.

Ginny turned to put it back on the shelf and bumped into Neville.

“Sorry,” she apologized, and quickly put the teacup back.

“It’s alright,” Neville said. “You’re not getting one? Harry and I got one each last year. I gave it to Mum who gave it to Nym--er--Tonks. She thought it was a riot.”

“Oh, no.” Ginny did not have very much to spend, and she’d put part of it towards some Chocolate Frogs. “Already bought candy today, so…”

“I’ll get it for you, if you like,” Neville offered.

Ginny felt her cheeks burn. “No thanks.” It was one thing for Helen to buy her candy. It was another thing for Neville Longbottom to buy her a teacup.

“Well, alright,” Neville said. “Have you seen Luna around?”

Ginny looked at Helen, who shrugged, and Ginny shrugged as well. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright.” Neville disappeared into the crowd of Hogwarts students and Ginny and Helen left.

“Does he like Luna?” Helen asked as she and Ginny started towards the Three Broomsticks.

“I don’t think so.” Ginny frowned. “He talks to her so easily. You think he’d be shyer about it, right?”

“I don’t know,” Helen shrugged. “Boys are different.”

Ginny knew, though, that Harry wasn’t shy about talking to her, and she expected he might be if he liked her. She wondered where Harry was today, and figured he probably had stayed behind at the castle. He wasn’t much for being out with people these days. She didn’t really blame him.

The Three Broomsticks was warm. Helen bought a butterbeer and offered to buy one for Ginny, but Ginny insisted on buying her own. They took a seat at an empty table near Hannah Abbot and Ernie Macmillan, who were trading Chocolate Frog cards. Ginny wondered if she could open hers and trade with them, but she wanted to save her frogs for later. And anyway, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors weren’t on the best terms right now. Even Helen, who made a point of being sweet to everyone, sat with her back to their table. Though that may have had less to do with their Hufflepuff badges and more to do with their “Support Cedric Diggory" badges. Helen had made a very loud speech in their dormitory about how rude those badges were and she wouldn’t talk to anyone who wore them. Which was fine with the dormitory, because they all supported Harry.

Ginny saw Ron sitting with Fred, George, and Lee Jordan. She didn’t go over to them, though. Ron looked particularly sour about something--probably Harry--and she didn’t feel like getting in the middle of that. Hermione was sitting alone, which meant she’d probably gotten into a fight with Ron, too. Why else would she be sitting by herself instead of with Ron?

Helen started talking about their Muggle Studies class and how strange she thought light switches were. Surely they weren’t real?

Ginny listened politely. She had learned the best way to pass Muggle Studies was not to ask “why” anything existed for Muggles, and to simply know that things worked. Her father was fascinated and loved to take things apart, but Ginny hadn’t seen him have any real success with that, so she opted not to bother.

As Helen talked, Hagrid and Professor Moody walked in together. Hagrid ordered a drink from Rosmerta, but Moody declined. Rosmerta looked offended, but it wasn’t her fault. Moody only drank from a hip flask. Everyone at the school knew that.

Ginny tried to wave at Hagrid, but Moody was whispering something in his ear and they were looking at Hermione. They went over to talk to her, and Ginny thought it nice of them to talk to her when she was by herself. Not many people had done that for her in her first year at Hogwarts, when she’d been mostly alone. But she quickly tamped down the memories of first year. There was nothing good down that road. Nothing except the knowledge that Harry Potter had saved her. If she’d had a silly crush before she started at Hogwarts, it was really only worse after the Chamber of Secrets.

“Do you think Professor Moody is joining Hermione Granger’s campaign thing?” Helen asked.

Ginny watched Moody and Hagrid take a studied interest in Hermione’s sheets of parchment. “I don’t know. I guess. Seems a bit odd. Mum always wanted a house-elf, you know.”

“Da, too,” said Helen. “You’ve got to have an estate or something, though, like Zachariah Smith’s family.”

“Do they have house-elves?.”

“Yeah, two. I went over last summer and we went horseback riding. It was a lot of fun.”

“Did he sign up for Hermione’s campaign?”

“No, I don’t think so. He said his mum treats the elves real fair, and they’d be upset if she paid them.”

Ginny wasn’t really surprised Hermione wasn’t getting a whole lot of support for her campaign. Most people paid up membership fees to keep her from talking to them. No one seemed to actually care about what Hermione had to say, and even if they did, they weren’t doing anything about it.

Hagrid and Moody didn’t talk to Hermione for long. They left, and Hermione kept glancing at the empty space on her right. She muttered to herself as she went over her S.P.E.W. information. Ginny wondered if she and Helen should go say something, but Helen said, “Should we get started on that currency chart for Muggle Studies?”

Ginny was not fond of math or numbers, and knew that chart was going to take her twice as long as it ought to. “Yeah, okay.”

They went back to the castle together. It hadn’t been the trip to Hogsmeade that Ginny had dreamed about as a child, but it had still been fun. She’d had a good day with her friend, and she’d gone to all the places she wanted to. As they walked back to the castle they ran into Neville, who had found Luna, and the four of them went back together.

Helen wasn’t too keen on Luna Lovegood, but Helen did not believe in being rude to anyone, so she kept up her usual chatter. Whenever Luna made a comment they didn’t understand, like, “That sounds like a heffelocks,” Helen tried to politely ask Luna to elaborate, but elaborating didn’t fall into Luna’s natural skill set. 

No one else would see the way Helen treated Luna as any different from the way that Helen treated anyone. It was only Ginny who would hear Helen sigh heavily later, and ask, “Are you sure I wasn’t rude to Luna today? I just don’t know how to talk to her. Does that make me a bad person?” and Ginny would assure Helen she was not, in the slightest, a bad person. Helen was only more comfortable around people she understood, and though she wasn’t offensive towards people she didn’t understand, her insecurity made her feel like she was being offensive. Others might have found it annoying, but Ginny found it endearing. It, once again, reminded her of the way Percy used to be. Ginny really hoped Helen wouldn’t bury herself in her studies in a couple years.

The reached the castle, not far behind Hagrid and Professor Moody, who were just saying their goodbyes. Moody went up into the castle, and as Hagrid started for his hut, he saw the four students approaching and waved.

“How was yer firs’ time in Hogsmeade?” he asked them in his loud voice.

“Great,” Helen answered, smile wide. “We had a lot of fun, didn’t we?”

Ginny nodded. Neville nodded. Luna stared up at the sky.

“Ah, Ginny,” Hagrid said, as if he had just seen her, which was possible. She felt very small between Helen and Neville. “Did yeh get ter see yer brother?”

Ginny had to think for a minute which brother that could possibly be. “They were all just in the Three Broomsticks, weren’t they?”

“No, I mean yer brother Charlie. Yeh didn’t know? I’m on my way ter meet him now.”

Ginny wondered why Charlie hadn’t said he was coming to Hogwarts. Or had he told Fred or George, and they just hadn’t bothered to tell her?

“Can I come?” she asked.

“Well, o’ course yeh can,” Hagrid said, smile wide beneath his heavy beard.

She quickly said goodbye to Helen, Neville and Luna, and jogged to keep up with Hagrid’s broad pace.

“Why is Charlie here?” she asked. “Is it for the Triwizard Tournament?”

“Yeah, bit o’ a surprise actually, so maybe tha’s why he didn’t tell yeh.”

Ginny followed Hagrid past his hut and into the Forbidden Forest. She hadn’t actually been in the forest before, but surely it was alright if she was with a teacher? Either way, they didn’t go very far.

Before she saw Charlie, she saw the dragon. Enormous, spiked thing, reared on its hind legs and shooting fire in the air. It came down with a crash and several wizards stunned it to keep it down. Ginny felt like all the air inside her had burned up. It was both beautiful and terrifying. She felt, suddenly, like she understood why Charlie loved these magnificent creatures.

One of the dragon stunners ran towards her. 

“Hagrid!” he shouted. 

She recognized Charlie’s voice. He pulled back his balaclava and ruffled his red hair. “Hey, Ginny, too?” His excitement seemed to taper. “Don’t think students are supposed to be down here. Otherwise I would’ve told you guys I was coming.”

“Why not?” Ginny asked.

“The champions aren’t supposed to know, are they?”

“It’s not like I’m going to tell Harry,” Ginny said. It wasn’t like she could tell Harry. It would take a lot of nerve to tell him that his first task was going to be dragons.

“You can’t tell Ron, either.”

“Harry and Ron aren’t talking right now.” Though if Harry and Ron were talking, maybe Ginny could have told Ron to tell Harry. Maybe she ought to tell Hermione about the dragons, so that Harry could be prepared. “But I won’t tell him,” she added, when Charlie was still looking at her suspiciously.

“Okay, alright,” Charlie said. “And don’t tell Mum, okay? She’s practically having kittens about Harry as it is.”

Ginny laughed. Telling her mother about the dragons was the last thing she wanted to do.

She and Charlie talked for a bit about school. She told him excitedly about her first trip to Hogsmeade while Hagrid looked at all four of the dragons. One for each champion.

“Which is your favorite?” Ginny asked, when she’d finished telling Charlie about the nose-biting teacup.

“Teacup?”

“No, dragon.”

Charlie looked at the four dragons and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t like to play favorites, but I can tell you I don’t like that Hungarian Horntail.” Charlie pointed to one of the dragons, but he didn’t need to. It was obvious to Ginny which one was called “Horntail.”

“She’s a nasty piece of work. Very difficult to stun. I don’t envy the champions. They’ve got their work cut out for them.”

“She?”

“They’re all shes. Nesting mothers. Don’t know why. Guess it makes them especially cranky, but they’ll be more keen to protect than fight. Maybe that’ll give the champions an easier time of it?”

Ginny had no idea.

Charlie asked after Fred and George, and she told him they were fine, if a bit isolated from everyone this year. Charlie suggested they were actually studying, after Mum’s summer scolding, but Ginny didn’t think so. She told him about Harry and Ron’s fight, but Charlie didn’t really have much advice to offer.

“They’ll come around,” Charlie says. “They’re both smart enough to.”

Ginny wasn’t so sure.

She said her goodbyes to Charlie and Hagrid and headed back to the castle. The path through the forest wasn’t too hard to follow, and she figured it must be far more dangerous at night. 

When she got to the Gryffindor tower, Helen was already halfway through their Muggle Studies homework. Ginny didn’t copy, but it was a lot easier to do conversions when she had someone to check her answers against.

For a Saturday, people seemed tired. Harry went to bed shortly after dinner. Most people turned in by ten, but Neville was still up reading, and Ron was sitting on the couch puzzling over his Divination chart. Dennis and Colin Creevey had abandoned their attempts to change the Hufflepuff badges to support Harry Potter, at least for the time being. So there was a pile of badges in the corner that glowed green and read, “POTTER REALLY STINKS.” Ginny thought the task was a pretty ambitious one for a first and third year, but she was proud of them for trying.

Helen yawned and asked Ginny if there was anything in the library about heffelockses. Ginny assured her there probably wouldn’t be, and she really didn’t have to research something just because Luna had mentioned it. But Helen was determined to be best friends with everyone, or at least understand everyone. Ginny would let her try, and not feel hurt by it at all. Because even though Helen tried to be best friends with everyone, it was only Ginny she would talk to about her insecurities. Feeling important wasn’t a common feeling for Ginny.

Helen headed up to bed and Ginny was about to follow, but remembered Puck. After her first cat, Llewellyn, had run off, she no longer let her kitten stay outside the dormitory for the night.

Ginny searched under a few of the chairs, and finally found Puck batting at Ron’s shoelaces.  
She reached under the couch and pulled out her kitten, now a lot longer, but with short legs, like only part of him was growing into a cat. She scooped him up in her arms and ignored the claws digging into her arm.

She noticed Ron was staring at his homework without actually doing it. She sat down next to him. “Everything okay?”

He glanced up at her and shrugged.

Ginny scratched Puck’s ears to try to get him from crawling out her arms. She wasn’t about to let another cat run away. “You know, I bet Harry would still talk to you, if you just told him you were sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Ron snapped.

Ginny didn’t know. When she fought with Helen, it didn’t matter who was right or wrong. One of them just had to apologize, then the other apologized, and things were okay again. When she fought with Fred and George, they were always in the wrong, so she never had to apologize to them. But they never apologized to her for anything, so how did she ever make up with them? She wasn’t actually sure.

So she tried, “Just tell Harry you know he doesn’t want to be in the tournament, and tell him you know he didn’t put his name in.”

“Yeah, he’s having a real hard time of it, being the center of attention all the time.”

“You know, being an only child isn’t that great. It was like that when you went to Hogwarts the first time and I was alone all year. Mum was after me all day, making sure I stayed out of trouble. At least with all seven of us, we can get away with stuff.”

“Harry seems to get away with everything just fine.”

Ginny didn’t miss the bitterness in Ron’s voice. “Does he, though? His family is pretty over-protective. Except they let him play Quidditch….” She trailed off, remembering that her mother still hadn’t given her permission to fly a broom. Well, she hadn’t asked this year, since there wasn’t a Quidditch season. But next year…. 

“Hey, Ron, let’s go out for Quidditch next year. You’re a good Keeper.”

“Yeah, that’s what I want,” Ron grumbled. “To play on a Quidditch team with you, Fred, George, and Harry.”

Ginny frowned and stood up. Puck meowed in protest as she squeezed him in her folded arms. “Honestly, Ron, you’re being a brat about this. And I think you know it.”

She didn’t give him time to argue with her and stormed upstairs with her cat. She didn’t let Puck down until she was sure the dormitory room was shut, then she flopped down onto her bed. Puck climbed up the sheets and curled into a ball beside her head. She finally fell asleep to the sound of his quiet purrs.

\--- --- ---

Harry met Hagrid at midnight and returned to the common room just before one am. Dragons. Dragons--he couldn’t believe he would actually have to fight a dragon. And now he was going to have to talk to Regulus Black. About what? It seemed odd that Regulus wanted to talk to him.

Harry sat on the couch across from the fireplace, wondering how Regulus was going to talk to him. It seemed risky to sneak in as Llewelyn again. Ginny might catch him and never let him go.

Harry checked the watch on his wrist. Right when it ticked to one am, the dying fire hissed, and though it did not increase to a full roar, the flames turned green and Harry saw Regulus’s face, just as he had seen his mother’s at the Weasleys’. The green tint to his face made his serious expression and haunted eyes look terribly ghostly. Harry crouched next to the fire, his curiosity overwhelming.

“Mr. Black?”

“We must speak quickly,” Regulus said. “Sirius and Remus are with your parents, but it is not difficult to watch Floo networks. I have no intention of being discovered now, but I wanted to speak with you.”

“With me? About what?”

“The Tournament, Harry. You didn’t put your name in.”

“Of course not.”

“But someone did.”

“Even Dumbledore doesn’t know who did.”

The green flames twisted into a frown. “I have shared my suspicions with Dumbledore, but he seems quite trusting….”

“What suspicions?”

“Keep your eye out for anyone who wants you in this Tournament, Harry, and listen to your nightmares. Have you had any more since attending Hogwarts?”

“Just the one… did Mum or Remus tell you? Voldemort killed someone else, and he was hurting Barty Crouch again.”

Pain flicked briefly on Regulus’s face, and Harry was startled. It was unusual for Regulus to express anything at all, let alone sympathy. Maybe it was a trick of the light.

“About who put your name in…. Igor Karkaroff is no longer the Headmaster at Durmstrang, so I hear. He would have been my first suspect. Keep an eye on his replacement. I don’t know anything about him, but he might be interested in doing you harm to prove himself. And Severus Snape….”

“You knew Snape at school, didn’t you? Do you think he would’ve done this?”

Regulus didn’t answer the question. “Was he pleased you were entered?”

“Not really. He’s not pleased with anything I do. Bagman was pretty excited, though. He and Barty Crouch--er, Barty Crouch’s dad, Mr. Crouch--were here.”

Now Harry was sure the expression on Regulus’s face was no trick of the fireplace. Was it fear? Doubt? The green flames made it hard to tell.

“Mr. Crouch is….” Regulus didn’t finish.

“He doesn’t like my dad,” Harry said, “but I don’t think he’d take that out on me, right? Why doesn’t he get along with my dad?”

At this Regulus snorted, a very good imitation of Sirius. “Mr. Crouch is the one who sent Sirius to Azkaban without trial, despite your parents’ insistence that he was innocent. I don’t think anyone’s forgiven him for it. But Mr. Crouch has always been a stickler for the rules. I don’t think he’s the sort to have a grudge against you.”

“Is he the one who sent you to Azkaban, too?”

Regulus’s face was once again impassive as always. “That was an entirely different matter. Tell your parents everything, Harry, and if you notice anyone suspicious, let Dumbledore or myself know.”

“Sure. Oh--I found out what the first task is. Could you let Sirius and them know? Seems better than putting it in a letter. And faster.”

“Of course,” Regulus said.

“I have to face a dragon. Any ideas?”

“It sounds like someone really wants you dead, Harry.”

“Thanks.” Harry decided he was never going to go to Regulus for advice about anything ever again.

“I think I recall something from Mulciber,” Regulus said quietly, “but I’ll ask Sirius. Someone will write to you.”

“Thanks,” and Harry meant it that time. It was the easiest conversation he’d ever had with Regulus. He wondered if Floo made it easier for Regulus to talk to people normally, or if the stress of someone trying to kill Harry made Regulus react more to things. Harry didn’t really think Regulus cared much about his wellbeing, though.

“You’d better go. I’ll have Sirius send you a letter as soon as he gets back.”

And like that, Regulus was gone.

Harry sat back on the couch and ran a hand through his hair. Facing a dragon…. But surely his parents would have some solution. Cheating or not, his mother had promised to help him. Though he couldn’t imagine his parents had ever had to face a dragon before. Then again, there were a lot of things during the war that Harry didn’t know about. Maybe they had fought dragons.

He’d also learned more about who might have put his name in the goblet. Regulus didn’t trust Safer and it sounded like he didn’t trust Snape, either. Harry couldn’t imagine Snape hated him so much he’d put his name in the Goblet of Fire. Actually, Harry could imagine Snape hated him that much. But did it really make sense for Snape to go through all that trouble, when he could so easily poison him in Potions class?

Harry, anxious as he was about the dragons and who wanted him dead, felt a lot better knowing he had people to turn to. His parents would have a solution, or Sirius or Remus would. He went upstairs and fell asleep without even thinking about how angry he was with Ron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons and dried herbs always appreciated!


	20. The First Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry must face his dragon. So must the other champions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are still 15 minutes left of Friday, so I'm not actually late!
> 
> Special thanks to ageofzero, who has endless patience for me. I've said it before, but it's worth saying for infinity.
> 
> Also special shout out to my dog, who is very much her own species of dragon and I wish she would stop eating my clothes.

Dear Harry,

Regulus told us the first task is dragons. I don’t doubt you’ll be able to do it for a minute. But I don’t think you should keep talking to him. I know he didn’t do everything we thought he did, but I don’t know how much we should keep trusting him. He’s been sneaking off lately and I’m getting suspicious.

But forget about Reg--there’s a simple spell for dealing with a dragon: The Conjunctivitis Curse. Blinds them. It’ll make your task a lot easier.

Stay safe.

Love,  
Sirius.

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

DO NOT use the Conjunctivitis Curse. Not only does it put a dragon in extreme pain, but it’ll be more likely to severely injure you in its rage. Your parents and I will think of something else to help you. We’ll dig apart your father’s library, and you can go through Hogwarts’ until we find something. 

Don’t worry.

Love,  
Remus

\--- --- ---

Harry and Hermione spent the entirety of their Sunday in the library. They went through books about raising dragons, books about finding dragons, and books about hiding from dragons, but none of them had anything about fighting dragons. Dragons’ tough hides made them impervious to most magic, unless conjured by several wizards at once. But Harry didn’t have several wizards, he only had one.

Harry slammed closed a very heavy book and shoved it towards the middle of the table, nearly toppling a nearby stack of books they’d already gone through.

“I give up,” he said, and laid his head down on the table. “I’ll just use the Conjunctivitis Curse and be done with it.”

Hermione didn’t even look up from her book. “How do you even know you can perform the Conjunctivitis Curse? You can’t practice it.”

“Can’t I practice on a lizard or something?”

“I don’t think it’s the same thing--Oh, what if you--Nevermind. That’s only for hatchlings.” She sighed and closed her book. She reached for another one, but didn’t open it. “There’s got to be something we can--” She snorted so suddenly and sharply that Harry sat up straight, as if his mother had scolded his poor table manners.

“Viktor Krum’s here,” she said. She grabbed a few books and got up. “It won’t be long before his fangirls show up and this place gets too noisy.”

Harry wondered why Krum was skulking around the library, but he didn’t protest Hermione’s suggestion. They took the books they hadn’t gone through and checked them out with Madam Pince. Sure enough, as they left the library, they passed a group of giggling girls with Bulgarian scarves tied around their waists and arms.

They spent the rest of Sunday researching in the common room, going through book after book after book and still finding nothing useful. Of course there was nothing useful. Nothing was going to right for Harry this year, was it?

He waited all evening for a letter from his parents, but it never came. He wondered if they were having as little luck as he and Hermione were having. That made him feel worse. 

On Monday morning, he expected something from his parents or Remus, but Hedwig did not deliver any news to him. If he didn’t have an answer from his parents by tonight, he was just going to have to try the Conjunctivitis Curse. And if that didn’t work, he would just have to lie down and hope the dragon ignored him. His mother had said that winning wasn’t the priority. Living was.

Harry wasn’t particularly looking forward to Herbology with the Hufflepuffs again, but Hermione wouldn’t hear about him skipping class.

“You’ll only be furthering Rita Skeeter’s carefree rebel picture of you,” she said.

Begrudgingly, Harry got his bag and followed Hermione out of the Great Hall. He caught sight of Cedric walking towards Flitwick’s classroom and realized that everyone knew about the dragons tomorrow except Cedric. Hagrid had taken Madame Maxime to see the dragons, and surely Maxime would have told Fleur. Then Harry had bumped into one of the Durmstrang students while on his way back to the castle. They would’ve seen the dragons, though they hadn’t seen Harry, as he was under the Invisibility Cloak, and they certainly would’ve told Krum by now. He guessed Krum and Fleur had already figured out what to do about their dragons. Their professors didn’t mind cheating, but Harry had a feeling if he asked McGonagall or Dumbledore for help, they’d just tell him to do his best. But his best wasn’t going to get him past a dragon.

He wondered if he could get disqualified for cheating. Wasn’t that the best way to stay alive?

Cheating or not, Cedric was the only champion who didn’t know about the dragons, and Harry thought that hardly sounded fair.

“I’ll catch up, Hermione,” Harry said.

“Harry,” she said, but she meant it as a warning not to ditch class.

“I will, really,” he said, “I just have to do this first.”

Harry followed Cedric down the hall, wondering how to get Cedric away from his friends. He didn’t really have the courage to walk into a group of Hufflepuffs and just tell Cedric about the dragons. Harry crouched behind a pillar, trying to think the best way to get Cedric alone. They were nearly to Flitwick’s class. When they passed through those doors, his chance would be gone.

Harry pulled out his wand and whispered, “ _Diffindo_ ,” and Cedric’s bag split into two, dumping its contents onto the floor of the hallway.

Cedric sighed and waved his friends forward. “Tell Flitwick I’m coming. New bag and everything….”

Cedric knelt down to pick up his books and Harry rushed forward to help. As he grabbed Cedric’s Transfiguration textbook, he said, “Dragons.”

“What?” Cedric looked at Harry. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“The first task, it’s dragons. They’ve got one for each of us.”

The confusion in Cedric’s face cleared a bit as they both stood. Cedric’s books were stacked awkwardly in one arm. “How do you know?”

Harry glanced around the hallway. No one was around to hear them. “I saw them in the Forbidden Forest.”

“And Krum and Delacour?”

“They know too. You were the only one who didn’t, and it didn’t seem very… fair.” He wondered if Cedric believed him. He couldn’t tell from Cedric’s face. It was painfully polite, almost like Regulus Black.

Harry decided he’d done what he came there to do, so he started to head for class.

“Harry--” Cedric started.

Harry turned.

“Thanks.”

“Uh, sure.”

Cedric adjusted his books and his damaged bag then went into Flitwick’s classroom. Harry turned around and nearly bumped into Mad-Eye Moody.

“Er--Professor, I’m on my way to Herbology, I promise--”

“Come with me, Potter,” Professor Moody said. He leaned on his wooden cane and looked down at Harry. Harry couldn’t decided if it was more or less unnerving to have both Moody’s eyes looking directly at him. Then Moody’s false eye started spinning and Harry decided the answer was definitely less.

“Professor Sprout will be wondering why I’m late.”

“Pomona’s the forgiving sort,” Moody growled. “Up to my office, Potter.”

Reluctantly, Harry followed Moody up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher’s office. He wondered if he was about to be in trouble for cheating and it crossed his mind that the punishment for cheating might actually be worse than being disqualified. Maybe he’d have to fight two dragons.

They reached the door to Moody’s office, and Moody undid several locks with a variety of keys, then tapped his wand in three different places before he finally pushed the door open. His office was full of items Harry had never seen before. It was a little strange, because before Moody, the office had belonged to Remus, and before Remus, it was his mother’s. With the two of them, the office had always felt like a small piece of home, with familiar chairs and china, a comfortable sitting arrangement by the fire, and a ready cup of tea anytime Harry needed to stop by.

Now it had a large Sneakoscope on the table, a set of metal wires that vibrated slightly, a giant trunk with about nine locks on it, and a glass that didn’t show Harry’s reflection, but instead showed a lot of shadows. Harry looked around in awe, both impressed and terrified by the sheer number of Dark Detectors. He shouldn’t have been surprised; Moody was known for being paranoid. Even to Harry, who knew what it was like to have someone out to kill you, it seemed a little excessive.

Moody sank into a chair and with his good leg kicked another chair towards Harry. “Sit, Potter.”

Harry did.

“That was a decent thing you did for Diggory.”

“Er--I didn’t really--”

“You’re not in trouble. Cheating’s a traditional part of the tournament, mind, and you can bet Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will do anything to win. They’d like to beat Dumbledore. They’d like to prove he’s only human.” Moody’s gnarled face glared sharply at Harry, but Harry could tell, as terrifying as it was, the rage was not directed at him. The deep loyalty Moody had when it came to Dumbledore was familiar to Harry. It reminded Harry of the way his dad and Remus reacted when someone criticized Dumbledore.

“Then why’d you bring me up here, Professor?” asked Harry.

“What are you going to do about your dragon?”

“Conjunctivitis Curse,” Harry said, with a lot more confidence than he felt, and maybe a little sarcasm.

Moody let out one short, sharp laugh. “Conjunctivitis Curse, my, you’re ambitious. You good at curses, boy?”

“Er--” Harry couldn’t say he really was. Jinxes, alright; hexes, average; curses, probably just above poor. He might’ve once said he was decent at Charms, but after all his failure with the Summoning Charm, he was beginning to think he was only made for one thing: flying a broom.

“Play to your strengths.”

Harry frowned. “Fat lot of good catching a Snitch would do me. I’m not allowed a broom.”

Moody raised his one eyebrow. “No? Get what you need, Potter. Simplicity is the best solution to most problems. Doesn’t matter if you’ve got a highly specific curse for a dragon if it doesn’t work. Doesn’t matter if you’ve got six wizards to face a dragon. Doesn’t matter if you can’t learn your basics. Heard you fought a troll your first year, and even You-Know-Who. You didn’t need fancy tricks then. Do you need them now? Simplicity, Potter.”

Harry thought about that. Ron had beaten a troll their first year with a Levitation Charm. Hermione’d helped him through the trials before the philosopher’s stone with quick thinking. Harry’d defeated the basilisk not with magic at all but just a sword.

“Oh,” he said. “I think I get it. Thanks, Professor.” He stood. “Er--did Dumbledore ask you to help me?”

“Dumbledore thinks you can do it on your own. Likes to think cheating’s unfair. I’m not one to go against Dumbledore, but I had a letter from your mother. Asked me to look out for you. There isn’t much saying no Lily Potter.”

Harry smiled for the first time in weeks. “No, Professor, there isn’t.”

He went back downstairs and out towards Herbology. Gryffindor was just leaving, already headed for Care of Magical Creatures. Harry ran across the grounds to Hermione.

“Where were you?” she hissed. Others were already talking under their breath to each other about his sudden appearance.

“Hermione,” he was still breathing hard from his run, “I need you to help me learn the Summoning Charm by tomorrow morning.”

\--- --- ---

Sirius enjoyed being Padfoot. Sounds and smells were so much more accessible. It was like a brand new world opened up when he was a dog. Colors were duller, yes, but it was a small price to pay for four sturdy paws and the wonderful knowledge that no one expected a dog to have proper table manners.

Being James’s Padfoot was even more fun than just being Padfoot. When he got to be James’s dog, it created so many more opportunities to annoy James. The Quidditch Cup had been fun, up until its abrupt end, and now Sirius was thrilled that he got another chance to be Padfoot, this time with Lily.

He hadn’t actually told them he was going with them to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. James had managed to get two tickets, and he and Lily were going because of Harry. But Sirius wasn’t going to miss this for the world. The morning of, Sirius had arrived at James’s place and turned himself into Padfoot.

“You’re not coming,” James said.

Padfoot barked. The other nice thing about being a dog: arguments were really easy when all you could do was bark at someone.

“Just let him,” Lily said. “It’ll make Harry happy.”

So James reluctantly took Padfoot into the Floo Network and they were off to Hogsmeade. They stepped out into the living room of the Potters’ cottage.

James hadn’t yet sold the house he’d bought two years ago, when Lily was teaching at Hogwarts. Though they didn’t need it or use it, James kept the house and repeatedly offered it to Sirius, Remus, and Regulus. None of them had any desire to stay in it, though, so it remained empty.

“Don’t go running off or I’ll put you on a leash,” James said as Padfoot ran to the door.

Padfoot obediently took a seat by the door while he and James waited for Lily to come through the fireplace. She was only a moment behind them, dusting soot off the brim of her hat. She looked a little pale, and Sirius didn’t blame her. They were going to watch Harry fight a dragon. Sirius didn’t think any of them could truly be prepared for that.

“Ready?” James asked.

Lily nodded. Padfoot barked.

It wasn’t a far walk between the cottage and the castle. James had planned it that way, as Lily used to make the walk every weekend, when she was finished teaching classes at Hogwarts. Then the following year, Remus had made the walk just before every full moon, so he would be able to transform with friends, rather than lock himself in his office or in the Shrieking Shack.

There were several other groups coming up from Hogsmeade. The Triwizard Tournament was a huge event, and though there weren’t nearly as many tickets available as there had been for the Quidditch Cup, the demand was still high. James was lucky to get two for each task, and since he and Lily got to go to the final task as the family of one of the champions, that meant two tickets for Sirius and Remus, so at least Remus would get to go to one event.

James and Lily were silent as they fell into the groups walking up to the castle to see the task, or try to catch a glimpse of the champions. Padfoot ran on ahead, and circled back every few feet, making sure that he had James and Lily in his sight at all times. He hadn’t caught Harry’s scent yet, or heard the sound of Harry’s voice. Nothing else caught his interest--except that scent of that vendor selling roasted pork.

“Padfoot!” James shouted.

Reluctantly, tail between his legs, Padfoot trotted away from the vendor and back to James. It was surprisingly easy to behave like an actual dog. Sirius wasn’t one to fight impulse, so neither was Padfoot.

To Padfoot’s surprise, Lily turned four sickles over to the vendor and got a set of ribs in return. She gave the pork to Padfoot, and they stepped aside, out of the crowd, now passing the edge of Hogsmeade to the castle grounds. They could see the group being diverted away from the castle and into the Forbidden Forest.

“You don’t have to indulge him,” James said while they waited for Padfoot to finish gnawing the meat off of the bones.

“You know how you spoil Harry when you can’t be with Remus on the full moon? Just let me do what I have to do.”

James took her hand and squeezed it. She smiled at him, but it was a thin smile, worn down by weeks of worry, and the last two days of absolute panic about the dragons. They’d all been panicking, and Lily expressed hers in weary smiles and impulsively purchased gifts. She’d bought Remus a new set of robes last week, and Sirius a jacket from a Muggle shop window.

James showed his worry differently. It was in the shortness of the commands he shouted after Padfoot, or the tension in his shoulders as they walked through the corridor into the stands. It was in the quiet, whispered conversations he exchanged with Remus when he thought Sirius was asleep and Lily was upstairs (but Sirius was only pretending, and Lily was only waiting in the hallway).

James flashed his two tickets to a young wizard, too young to be managing the tournament, Padfoot thought, then he saw the Hogwarts crest on the kid’s robe. So he must only be helping out.

“Sir, you can’t take your dog in--Oh, Profes--er, Mrs. Potter. I didn’t see you there.”

Lily smiled. “Hello, Barney. How’s school? Excited for the tournament? Let’s see, you just finished your O.W.L.s last year, didn’t you? How’d you do? Are you liking your N.E.W.T. classes?”

Barney answered as best and as quickly as he could, but there was now a line of people with tickets, and James and Lily were forced inside, Padfoot right on their heels.

“Efficient,” James said as they took their seats. Lily acknowledged the compliment with a smile.

Padfoot sat at their feet and looked around. There were so many people, which meant a lot of smells and sounds, but he managed to pick out Hermione’s voice a few yards away with a group of Gryffindor students. Ron looked as sullen as Harry had described in his letter to Remus all those weeks ago. Harry hadn’t written home about Ron since the fight, and no one had pressured him to. Harry had a lot to worry about and if he wanted to ignore some things in favor of others, he had every right to.

There were a few shouts of, “Professor Potter!” and Lily politely waved at some of her former students. One shouted at them, asking after Professor Lupin, and Lily told them he was doing well, thank you for asking, I’ll let him know you said hello.

Sirius didn’t know too many of the Hogwarts students, but he did know everyone Harry had ever played Quidditch with. Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell were all sitting close together with a few other sixth years, including Fred and George Weasley, who Sirius knew not just for Quidditch, but because he’d watched them grow up. Though the Potters had never been very close with the Weasleys until Harry and Ron became best friends at Hogwarts, they’d known the Prewett brothers since the days of the Order. Fred and George were Fabian and Gideon’s nephews, and Sirius had always thought they did their uncles proud.

He saw Ginny Weasley sitting not too far from them with Neville and a blonde girl Sirius had never met. She had turnips in her ears, though, and he could smell them, even all the way over here. He wondered if she knew they were there.

Another faintly familiar scent reached Padfoot’s nose and he turned towards it. Charlie Weasley was about ten seats away, making his way towards James and Lily.

James saw him first and waved. Charlie waved back, but he wasn’t smiling at James or Lily, he was looking straight at Padfoot. Padfoot stood up and wagged his tail. He barked once in greeting, and put his head on Charlie’s knee as Charlie took the seat next to Lily. Charlie scratched his ears and Padfoot’s tail thumped against the floor.

“It’s good to see you,” Lily said with a smile. “Surprised you aren’t down there, working.” She pointed off towards the trees where a puff of smoke was rising into the sky.

“Worked all night. My turn for a break,” Charlie said. He scratched Padfoot’s ears. “They’re a real struggle, those dragons--er, I mean, I’m sure Harry will be fine.”

“Of course he will be,” James said. He sounded a lot more sure than he had when they left the house. But that was how the Potters were. Their worry was not for public consumption. They were war heroes, and heroes they had to be.

The judges’ box was lit suddenly in a ring of golden light. The audience turned and Padfoot left Charlie to sit next to James. Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, and Safer entered and took their seats. Behind them came Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch. Padfoot growled instinctively, and James put a hand on his head.

Ludo Bagman put his wand under his chin and began announcing the tournament.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Triwizard Tournament! Four champions will be competing today. Their task will be to to take the golden egg, the key to completing the next task, from a dragon. Each champion has already been assigned their own dragon at random. Our first champion is Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts!”

The crowd cheered and a cannon sounded. Sirius recognized Cedric from the Quidditch Cup that summer and as the Seeker of the Hufflepuff team. He waved to the crowd, then watched the dragon tamers bring in his dragon.

“His dragon is the Swedish Short Snout, beautiful, very isolated breed.”

She really was a beautiful thing, silvery-blue with massive wings. Her forelegs were a bit short, but she breathed a plume of bright blue fire into the air and if anyone thought Cedric had an advantage because of her short legs, it was immediately forgotten.

She curled around the nest of dragon eggs, not even noticing that another egg had been planted in her nest, and stared at the boy in yellow.He took one step forward and she shot a stream of her blue fire through her nose. The jet headed straight for Cedric, but he ran and ducked behind a boulder before he could get caught.

“Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow,” Bagman said.

Cedric tried going forward again, trying to get at the dragon’s nest from a different angle, but the dragon could smell him and every time he came within fifty meters, she spat fire at him.

“He’s taking risks this one.”

Cedric ducked behind another rock and this time, didn’t come out for a while. Padfoot couldn’t see what he was doing from his seat next to James. He sat up on his hind legs for a better view, but James pushed him back down.

Then, from behind the rock, emerged not Cedric, but a yellow labrador. Padfoot barked at it as it ran out in front of the dragon. The dragon watched it warily, knowing it could not chase it and Cedric at the same time. As she watched the dog, Cedric ran for the egg.

“There he goes--oh!”

At the last moment, the dragon turned and shot fire at Cedric. It hit him in the shoulder and the side of his face as he dove for the egg and grabbed it.

With the egg in the champion’s hand, the dragon tamers came in and removed the Swedish Short Snout. A mediwizard removed Cedric immediately. The crowd cheered loudly, and Padfoot barked.

“Very good indeed!” Bagman shouted. “And now the marks from the judges!”

While Cedric was cleaned up, the three headmasters and the two ministry officials gave Cedric his score, totaling thirty-eight, out of fifty.

Padfoot looked back and saw James and Lily gripping each other’s hands so hard their knuckles were both white. He laid his head against James’s knee.

“One down, three to go!” Bagman announced. “Miss Delcour, if you please!”

Fleur Delacour stepped out into the arena, and Padfoot was surprised to see her hair shimmer in the sunlight. It was more noticeable to his eyes, which picked up the changes in light more easily. She was at least partially a veela, which stunned him. He supposed it shouldn’t. He did have a werewolf for a best friend.

The dragon tamers led in a Common Welsh Green. Unlike the Swedish Short Snout, it seemed to sense Fleur as a threat immediately and a deep growl filled the entire arena. Padfoot’s instincts took over and he growled back, all hair rising to stand on its end. It was only James putting a hand on his neck and pulling him back that kept him from barking at the dragon.

Fleur, though her hand trembled, stared right back at the dragon. She raised her wand, and a pale blue light hovered in front of her. It swung slowly, back and forth, with the movement of her wand, The dragon followed the light, and then a gentle lullaby seemed to fill the whole stadium. With a low growl, the dragon settled down, like it was about to take a nap. Fleur walked forward for the egg. But before she reached the dragon, it let out a snore, and a jet of flame with it. She slipped behind a rock, but the fire caught on the edge of her dress. She extinguished it with water from her wand before claiming her prize.

The crowd cheered. She received a score of thirty-seven. Lily scoffed.

“She was far better than Cedric!”

“That kind of transfiguration Cedric did requires a lot of skill,” James said.

“That doesn’t mean simple solutions should be devalued.”

Sirius didn’t care much about Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour. Cedric played against Harry in Quidditch, and it was Cedric’s father who had given them all a stressful end to the summer by wrongly arresting Remus. Sirius rather hoped Cedric would lose. And he didn’t know Fleur at all, except from Harry’s letter, and her brief mention in the Daily Prophet. She was nothing to him.

But Viktor Krum was someone Padfoot was excited to see. The world-renowned Seeker for the Bulgarian Quidditch team facing a dragon? Yes, please. His tail thumped against James’s legs as Krum stepped out into the arena.

The dragon led in next was bright red with scattered gold scales. Bagman announced it as the “Chinese Fireball,” and Sirius suspected it had nothing to do with China whatsoever. He would’ve asked Charlie about it, but he couldn’t do that very easily as Padfoot.

True to its name, however, the Chinese Fireball shot fire in bright red bursts, like dying stars. Viktor ducked behind rocks, though not quite as gracefully or efficiently as Fleur and Cedric had. He didn’t seem nearly as comfortable or confident on the ground as he did in the air.

He used the Conjunctivitis Curse on the dragon, successfully blinding it. The dragon shrieked and stumbled, blind and in pain. Some of the dragon eggs were squashed under its feet, but Krum didn’t hesitate. He dove right into the nest of eggs, successfully avoided the talons, and grabbed his golden egg without injury.

The dragon was led away for tending and Krum was given a score of forty, not far from a full mark, but docked enough because of the crushing of the eggs.

“It should be lower,” Charlie grumbled. “That was horribly inhumane. And losing eggs--those take years to hatch.”

“He’s the only one that didn’t catch on fire, though,” James said. “That seems like a pretty good job to me.”

James and Lily exchanged a glance, but said nothing. Sirius had known them long enough to know the shared thoughts were, “Harry could get burned,” and, “There are plenty of qualified medical wizards down there.” Sirius had the same thoughts. He saw each of their free hands slip into their robes for their wands. “Just in case,” they seemed to say. Sirius wished he could reach for his wand, but it was safely tucked in Lily’s pocket. 

“In case of emergency,” she’d said. Sirius wondered what kind of emergency she thought would force him to reveal his illegal status as an Animagus could happen here at Hogwarts. But then, they’d never expected anything like this tournament to happen to Harry while he was at Hogwarts.

“And our last champion,” Bagman announced, “Harry Potter! He’ll be facing our last dragon, the Hungarian Horntail!”

Harry looked so much smaller than the other champions as he stepped into the arena, and the Horntail looked so much bigger than the other dragons had. Her spiked tail left gouges in the rocks and her yellow eyes stared straight at Harry, waiting for him to make the first move.

Harry raised his wand and said, “ _Accio Firebolt!_ ”

“Can he do that?” Lily whispered to James, who shrugged his shoulders. 

His broom came speeding from the castle and straight into his hands. He mounted and took off while the crowd roared with applause.

“Great scot, he can fly!” shouted Bagman. “Are you seeing this Mr. Krum?”

James and Lily were not ready to cheer. They were too busy watching Harry duck under a jet of flames and come within inches of the Hungarian Horntail’s razor sharp teeth to cheer. 

“What is he doing--Oh!” Lily screamed as the dragon’s tail grazed Harry’s shoulder.

“He’s alright, he’s alright,” James said, though more to reassure himself than his wife. “He’s just trying to lure her away from the nest, watch.”

And that was exactly what Harry was doing as he dove low, just missing claws and fire, and pulled up quickly, taunting the dragon until she dared to leave her eggs unprotected, just long enough for Harry to swoop in and steal the golden egg.

“Look at that!” shouted Bagman. “Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! Well, that’ll shorten the odds on Mr. Potter.”

As the Horntail was led away, the crowd cheered. Padfoot barked. James and Lily, breathless with relief, held each other for a long moment. When they pulled away, James wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Lily hugged Padfoot and kissed his cheek. Padfoot licked her face.

“Harry did it,” Lily said.

“Score of forty,” James said as the judges totaled their scores. “That’s incredible! He’s tied for first.”

Padfoot barked and bounded past Charlie down to the champions’ tent.

“Padfoot, no!” James shouted after him. But this time Padfoot didn’t stop.

He ran into the tent and followed Harry’s scent to medical, where Madam Pomfrey was putting a paste over Harry’s shoulder. He barked and jumped up onto the bed.

“Get out!” Madam Pomfrey shouted at him. “Dementors and dragons and dogs--What kind of nonsense--”

“He’s alright, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said quickly. “He’s my Mum and Dad’s.”

She huffed, pressed her wand against his shoulder, and told him to stay put while she went to check on Cedric Diggory, just on the other side of the curtains.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Harry said to Padfoot.

Padfoot licked his face and resisted the urge to lick the paste off of Harry’s shoulder.

Ron and Hermione came in next. Hermione threw her arms around Harry’s neck and squeezed him.

“It worked!” she said. “You were amazing!”

Ron stood at the flap of the tent, face white. “Harry,” he said, “whoever put your name in that goblet--I--I reckon they’re trying to do you in.”

“Caught on have you?” Harry asked. “Took you long enough.”

Ron stood there uncomfortably, bearing the weight of Harry’s stare. Neither said anything.

Sirius had been through enough fights with James and Remus to know waiting for an apology wasn’t always the best way to repair a friendship, no matter who was in the wrong. He was going to bark or try to encourage Harry in some way, but Harry seemed to figure it out first.

“It’s okay,” Harry said. “Forget it.”

“No, I--”

“Forget it.”

They both broke out into wide grins. Hermione started crying and left the tent.

“What’s with her?” Ron asked. Harry shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

“You know,” Ron continued, “you got the highest score. Tied for Krum. I reckon you could even win this thing.”

Padfoot barked approvingly.

James and Lily burst into the tent. Lily enveloped Harry in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright! That was brilliant! A wonderful Summoning Charm. I’m so proud! Did you think of it all on your own?”

“Professor Moody helped,” Harry said.

“We’ll have to send him a nice bottle of mead for Christmas,” James said, “so he can throw it out for fear of it being poisoned.”

Lily pulled away from Harry only to lightly slap James’s shoulder. “We weren’t going to bother you,” she said to Harry, “but Padfoot here decided to run off.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said, and Sirius was sure he meant it. “Will you be there for the second task? All of you?” He looked between his parents and Sirius.

“We got two tickets,” James said. “We’ll see who’s uh, available.”

Padfoot barked, asserting that certainly he was available, and he had every intention of attending.

“Harry, there you are!” Bagman poked his head into the tent. “Ah, Diggory too. All of the champions, bring your eggs, please!”

“Guess I better go,” Harry said.

Lily kissed his cheek and James ruffled his hair.

“We’re proud of you,” James said with a wide smile.

Harry looked genuinely happy as he and Cedric went after Ludo Bagman for information about the second task.

“Alright, off we go,” James said, and patted Padfoot on the head. “Nice to see you, Ron. Say bye to Charlie for us?”

“Charlie’s here?” Ron said. “He didn’t tell me.”

“I expect it was a bit hushed,” Lily said. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you now.”

Ron left in search of his brother and James and Lily started on the path back to Hogsmeade. The crowds were a little thinner, but not much. Padfoot trotted along at Lily’s side, sniffing for more of that pork.

“One down,” James said.

“Two to go,” Lily said.

Padfoot barked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions, headcanons, and bouquet arrangements always welcome.


	21. The House Elf-Liberation Front

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and friends make a trip down to the kitchens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta. I don't know how they put up with my existence and my absolute disregard for deadlines. If I had a church, I'd give them sainthood.

Harry could not resist writing a lengthy letter to Regulus Black and giving him a play-by-play of his fight with the Hungarian Horntail. Sirius had said maybe Regulus wasn’t the best person, but Regulus had been a Seeker during his time at Hogwarts, so surely he would understand.

Harry knew James and Sirius would probably insist on telling Remus every detail, and that Remus really only had at best a polite interest in Quidditch, as one had to have to be friends with a younger James, so Harry only sent Remus a brief summary of his success. He included an end note for everyone at home, assuring them that he was alright, he and Ron were friends again, and oh, if anyone had any advice about how to solve the screaming golden egg, that would be really helpful.

Going to classes was a lot easier for Harry now that he had Ron on his side again. Harry could endure any amount of snubbing or insults, even about Rita Skeeter’s article, as long as his best friend was with him. Even Potions with the Slytherins or Herbology with the Hufflepuffs was bearable. And Divination was back to being its usual joke, despite Trelawney’s never ending death threats.

They were still on star charts, and Harry hadn’t heard one comment about the brightness of Mars. Trelawney was too busy prattling on about how Pluto could affect day-to-day life. But Harry didn’t care about the day-to-day. He knew tomorrow he would go to Transfiguration and struggle through a Switching Spell. He knew Thursday he would go to Defense Against the Dark Arts and take notes on curses. He knew Friday he would endure Double Potions with Snape and Malfoy, and probably flunk his antidote test. Then he was due for a weekend of homework, maybe try to solve the egg for an hour, and if there was time, maybe even play a Quidditch scrimmage with Ron.

How Pluto was going to affect all that didn’t bother Harry. What did bother Harry was what was going to happen if Voldemort returned--or rather, when Voldemort returned--but since Trelawney didn’t even remember her prophecy from last summer, and Harry hadn’t had any new nightmares, he didn’t think he could care less about what Trelawney had to say about the future. Instead, he and Ron were giggling over a new omen Ron had just come across in their textbook: a chicken wearing underpants, a sure sign of good health.

“I would think that some of us,” Trelawney trained her magnified eyes on Harry, “might be a little less frivolous had they seen what I had seen during my crystal gazing last night.” She paused, for dramatic effect, and Lavender, as usual, obliged her.

“What was it, Professor?”

“Death, my dears.”

Lavender and Pavarti gasped. Harry and Ron rolled their eyes.

“Yes, death,” Trelawney continued, “it comes, ever closer, circles overhead like a vulture, descending ever lower… ever lower over the castle….” She kept her eyes trained on Harry, but Harry only yawned.

Trelawney had been predicting his death since he walked into her classroom, and sure, maybe he was in a tournament where people historically died, but every time Trelawney said he was in danger of dying, it made the fear of it disappear just a little more. Like the more she said it, the less likely it was to ever happen.

Harry and Ron were still laughing about it, and Harry joked that he was more likely to see a chicken running around in underpants than die as frequently as Trelawney insisted he ought to. 

They went down to the Great Hall for dinner but Hermione wasn’t there. Harry thought maybe she had extra Arithmancy homework, so Ron insisted they hunt her down and tease her about it. They went to the library. but Hermione wasn’t there either, just Viktor Krum, walking between the bookshelves on his awkward duck-feet.

He caught Harry’s eye and they exchanged a very brief and very uncomfortable stare.

“D’you think I could get his autograph?” Ron asked.

Then they heard some nearby girls in Bulgarian colors giggling just behind them. One repeated Ron’s question, and Ron went red in the face. He and Harry slipped out as Krum slunk behind another bookshelf.

With no sign of Hermione at dinner or in the library, the boys could only guess she’d be in the common room, so they headed up the stairs to Gryffindor tower. They had just put their foot on the top step when Hermione came running up behind them.

She grabbed Harry’s hand and started pulling him back downstairs. “Harry! You’ve got to come! The most amazing thing’s just happened!”

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked

“I’ll show you when we get there, oh, please, just come quick!”

Hermione had pulled him about halfway down the steps by now. Ron was still at the top gaping at them.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“You’ll see! You’ll see in just a minute!”

“Okay, I’m coming, don’t pull my arm off.”

Ron ran to catch up with them, and both boys, though very tall, had to walk quickly to keep up with Hermione’s pace as she led them down from the tower, back past the Great Hall, and down the way Cedric Diggory had gone after he and Harry had said goodnight, back when they’d been selected as Hogwarts’ champions. She finally stopped when they arrived at a portrait of a large silver bowl of fruit.

“Oh,” Harry said, “I know what this is about.”

“Hermione,” Ron huffed, “You’re trying to rope us into that spew stuff again.”

“I’m not,” she insisted. “And it’s not spew!”

“Changed the name, have you? What are we now, then, the House-Elf Liberation Front?”

“I only wanted to show you--” Hermione reached up for the pear in the bowl of fruit. She tickled its underside and it grew solid in her hand. She tugged on it, pulling the portrait open, and shoved Harry inside.

Harry caught a glimpse of glittering black cauldrons and pots, each large enough to feed twenty when full, and cooking fires reduced to dim, glowing coals, but before he could make out any more, he was knocked over by something surprisingly small.

Harry gulped air back into his lungs and straightened his glasses. He looked at the thing clinging to his middle.

“Dobby?”

“It is Dobby!” the house-elf said, looking up at Harry with his bright green eyes. “It is, sir, it is Dobby!” It was a little hard to tell beneath the knit tea cozy on his head, the bright yellow tie, and the mis-matched socks, but it was indeed Dobby the house-elf.’

“What are you doing down here?” Harry pried Dobby off of him and got to his feet.

“Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir. Dumbledore has given Dobby a job. Look!” Dobby pulled aside his tie to reveal a Hogwarts crest stamped into his white toga. Then he took Harry’s hand and pulled him farther into the kitchen, past the dim cooking fires. There were four long tables, one for each in the Great Hall, but there was no food on them. Instead, there were dozens of house-elves working to clean the dishes from dinner.

“Dobby was hoping to see Harry Potter at Hogwarts and now Harry Potter has come to see Dobby! Dobby is very happy to see Harry Potter, sir. Would Harry Potter and his friends like a cup of tea?”

“Oh. Sure.”

There were suddenly six house-elves offering Ron, Harry, and Hermione tea and biscuits.

“Good service,” Ron said.

“Thank you,” said Hermione.

“Dobby,” Harry asked as he took a cup of tea from one of the house-elves, “how long have you been here?”

“Only a week, Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby said with a wide smile. “Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir. You see, it is very difficult for a house-elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, very difficult indeed. Dobby has traveled all over the country for two whole years, sir, trying to find work. But Dobby hasn’t found any work, sir, because Dobby wants paying now!”

Many of the house-elves awkwardly avoided eye contact with Dobby and one eagerly tried to change the subject by offering Hermione another biscuit, but she didn’t notice.

“Good for you, Dobby,” she said.

“Thank you, miss! But most wizards don’t want a house-elf who wants paying, miss. ‘That’s not the point of a house-elf’ they says, and they slam the door in Dobby’s face! Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes and he wants to be paid, Harry Potter…. Dobby likes being free! So Dobby came to Hogwarts, sir, where house-elves are free, thinking maybe Hogwarts can pay house-elves, and so Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir, and Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby if Dobby wants paying! And so Dobby is a free elf, sir, and Dobby gets a Galleon a week and one day off a month!”

Hermione frowned. “That’s not very much! You--Dobby, what do you mean all house-elves at Hogwarts are free? You don’t all get paid?” She looked around at the other house-elves, who shook their heads so fast, their ears flopped back and forth against their skulls.

“Free, miss, we are not bound to Hogwarts or Dumbledore!” Dobby squeaked. “We can leave if we like, and we don’t have to punish ourselves for mistakes, and we can speak our minds about the Headmasters! Dumbledore said we are free to--to call him a--a barmy old codger if we likes, miss!” Dobby squeaked again, a combination of fear and excitement. “But Dobby is not wanting to, Harry Potter. Dobby likes professor Dumbledore very much, sir, and is proud to keep his secrets and his silence for him.”

Harry grinned. “So you could say what you like about the Malfoys, now?”

Dobby looked doubtful. “Dobby could….” His green eyes were suddenly very serious. “Dobby could tell Harry Potter that his old masters were--were--bad Dark wizards!”

Dobby was very still for a moment, then immediately fell into his old habits and said, “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!” as he beat his head against a nearby table.

Harry grabbed his tie and pulled him back. “Dobby, stop. You’re alright. You just need a bit of practice.”

Dobby rubbed his head and nodded. “Yes, sir, just a bit of practice.”

Harry wanted to ask what Dobby meant by calling the Malfoys Dark wizards. He’d always disliked Malfoy, and he knew his parents weren’t fond of them either, but Dark wizards was a serious accusation. Still, he didn’t want Dobby to hurt himself again, so he phrased his question very carefully.

“Dobby…. what sorts of secrets would a house-elf know that they couldn’t share? You don’t have to tell me Malfoy’s secrets if you don’t want to, but if you had a sort of idea….”

Dobby thought very hard for a moment, then his green eyes lit up. “Dobby traveled lots, sir, and Dobby visited his friend Winky. Winky works for the Crouch family, a good family. Winky loves Mr. Crouch, and she keeps all sorts of secrets about the Ministry for Mr. Crouch, things she can’t tell anyone. Dobby was just there, sir, and Winky wouldn’t even let Dobby in to say hello. Very busy, she says, couldn’t tell, she says, very secret. Those sorts of secrets are secrets house-elfs usually keep.”

“Was it about the Triwizard Tournament? Did she say anything about the second task?”

Dobby shook his head. “No, sir, she says Mr. Crouch has guests and Dobby is not to be disturbing them. She says nothing about the Triwizard Tournament.”

“D’you think a house-elf could’ve put your name in, Harry?” Ron asked, mouth still full of a biscuit.

Hermione looked scandalized. “No house-elf at Hogwarts would--”

“No,” Ron said quickly, “but think about it. Say someone wanted you in the tournament, and they had a house-elf. They just ask the house-elf to do it. The house-elf can’t say no.”

“Dobby?” Harry asked. “What do you think?”

Dobby looked thoughtful. “The Goblet of Fire is very old magic, sir, but not as old as house-elves. There is someone who might know the answer, though. Come, follow Dobby, sirs and miss. Dobby will show you the house-elf who might know. She has met all house-elves and their families. She is knowing Dobby’s father when he served the Malfoys, and her mother is knowing Dobby’s grandfather. Very old family, like Dobby’s.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged puzzled looks, but Ron shrugged his shoulders, and they all followed Dobby farther into the kitchens, past the stacks of dishes, past storerooms of food, past small beds that must’ve been the sleeping quarters for the house-elves, past a washroom for the house-elves, to a small door attached at the very back.

“Dumbledore is a good master, sir,” Dobby said. “Many masters dismiss or kill house-elves that are too old to work, but Dumbledore lets them stay and takes care of them. Mellie is very old, sir, but she might know who could have put your name in the Goblet of Fire.”

Dobby pushed open the door, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione had to duck to get through it. The room was very small, and the three of them nearly filled all the available space between five small beds. Three were empty, one had a house-elf snoring loudly in it, and the last had a house-elf sitting up in bed, her skin leathery-looking, and wrinkled, hanging off her thin frame in folds. She was being fed by a house-elf who looked as young as Dobby, but her nose curved upward, rather than straight like Dobby’s, and her large eyes were a bright purple instead of green, the same shade as the elder house-elf. Both wore the white toga stamped with Hogwarts’ crest.

“This is Mellie and Mellie’s daughter Picksie,” Dobby said, pointing to the house-elf sitting up in bed. “Mellie,” he raised his voice slightly, and the elder house-elf’s ear stretched upward towards his voice, “Mellie, Dobby has brought you guests. This is Miss Hermione Granger, Mister Ronald Weasley, and Mister Harry Potter.”

Mellie turned her head to the three and squinted up at Harry with her clouded, violet eyes. 

Picksie dropped the spoon she’d been feeding Mellie with. “H-Harry Potter?” she squeaked. Her voice was even higher than Dobby’s. She hastily picked up the spoon and set it down with the bowl. She bowed very low to Harry.

Harry had gotten used to people knowing who he was, and he remembered Dobby had been rather awed to meet him. He was about to protest the young house-elf’s bow when Mellie suddenly spoke in a reedy yet raspy voice.

“Mister Potter is supposed to be being in bed by now. Mistress says Mister Harry must always be in bed by eight, unless it is a weekend, then Mister Harry may stay up until nine pm.”

Harry laughed. His mother had never once had a rule like that. Maybe when he was six, but certainly not now that he was fourteen.

“Mellie,” the smaller house-elf said, “you is talking about a long, long time ago. “You is not remembering--”

Mellie turned her glare on the younger house-elf. “Don’t tell me what I do and don’t remember, Picksie. I remember Mister Harry, and I remember his son is Mister Fleamont and I remember he has the same bedtimes as Mister Harry. Then he is marrying that Mistress Euphemia who called bedtimes nonsense.” She snorted.

Picksie quivered. “You is not to be speaking bad about Mistress Euphemia.” She looked up at Harry, Ron and Hermione. “Picksie apologizes for her Mama. She is very old and is not remembering so well. She thinks you are Mister Harry Potter, her first master, many years ago.”

Harry frowned. “You mean… my great-grandfather Henry? You’re my family’s old house-elves?”

“No one calls Mellie old,” Mellie said. She tried to get out of her bed. “Mellie will make Mister Potter tea and show him how old Mellie is. Hah!”

Picksie pulled Mellie back into the bed. “Picksie is sorry, Mister Potter, sir. Mama has not lifted a tea tray in several years.”

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, “we wanted to ask about who put your name in the goblet.”

Harry was working his way there, but he had a lot of questions for Mellie and Picksie that suddenly seemed a lot more important. “So you knew my grandparents? What were they like? How did you end up here at Hogwarts?”

Mellie was still fighting to get out of the bedsheets, so Picksie answered as she tucked in her mother. “Mister James is making Picksie and Mellie leave,” her high voice quivered. “Picksie and Mellie is not wanting to go, but Mister James says Picksie and Mellie will be in danger if they stay. Mellie says Mister James is having to throw Mellie out of the house with his bare hands if he is making Mellie leave. Mellie is not so good at respecting her Misters and Misses, sir. Mellie is very proud of serving Styncon Garden. Mellie says, ‘Mellie raised four Potter boys, and Mellie is not leaving when a fifth Potter is coming. Only Mellie knows how to help care for a mama. How will Mister Potter take care of Mistress Potter? What does Mister Potter know about taking care of mamas and their new babies?’ But Mister Potter threw Mellie out and Picksie too. Picksie did not want to leave Mama, so we came to Hogwarts, where we could stay together. And now you have found us, Mister Harry Potter. You are Mister and Mistress Potter’s baby, yes?”

Dobby sniffled and wiped tears out of his eyes with his tie, as if Picksie’s story was the saddest thing he’d ever heard. It seemed, even as much as Dobby liked being free, he was very sorry to hear about how Picksie and Mellie had been made to leave their home. 

“Erm--I’m not really a baby anymore,” Harry said, “But, yeah, my mum and dad are Lily and James.”

“Harry,” Ron elbowed him. “Ask about the goblet.”

But before Harry could, Mellie looked up at him. “So Mister Harry Potter is the baby that Mellie is not getting to raise? Mister Harry Potter is the baby Mellie is leaving her home for?” She frowned at him in a way that reminded Harry just a little bit of Snape, but with a slightly longer nose. “No wonder Mister Harry is so thin. Mistress Potter must not be feeding you right. Mister and Mistress Potter is not knowing how to take care of a baby, just as Mellie said.”

“Mama doesn’t mean it,” Picksie said hastily. “Mama has always been bitter with Mister James and Mistress Lily for making her leave. Mama is also always speaking critically of her masters since Mistress Dorea tried to punish Mellie’s Mama for saying something bad about her, and Mistress Dolly, Mister Henry’s wife, encouraged Mellie and Mellie’s Mama to be rude about everyone, just to make Mistress Dorea mad. She was not liking Mistress Dorea.”

Harry didn’t much care for the great-aunt he’d briefly met via portrait, either, but he had a sudden fondness for this great-grandmother he’d never met.

“Mellie,” Hermione said, and looked at Harry, “we wanted to ask you something very important. Dobby says you can help us. He says you know lots of house-elves and their families.”

Mellie studied Hermione for a very long time before nodding. “Mellie is knowing Dobby’s family. Mellie is knowing Dobby’s family is rude and Mister Fleamont is not liking Mister Abraxas Malfoy. Mister Fleamont calls Mister Abraxas as foul-mouthed as he smells.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin. It was good to know that insulting Malfoys ran in his blood.

“Dobby’s family is not the Malfoys anymore, Mellie,” Dobby said quickly. “Dobby is a free elf!”

“Mellie does not blame Dobby for being free. Dobby’s family is rude and unkind. But Malfoy Manor is a proud place to serve, and Dobby should be properly ashamed to leave it.”

“Mama,” Picksie interrupted. She seemed very keen to keep her mother from fighting with Dobby about being free. Harry wondered if Picksie would agree with Mellie’s views about house-elf freedom, or Hermione’s. 

“Mama, Miss Granger is wanting to ask you a question. You is not letting her finish.”

“Mellie,” Hermione tried again, with a very pleasant smile for Picksie and Mellie, “someone entered Harry into the Triwizard Tournament, someone who was able to get into Hogwarts, and confound the Goblet of Fire into choosing Harry as a second champion of Hogwarts. We think they did it to hurt him. Do you know a house-elf or family who could have done this?”

“There is many families who is wishing to tarnish the Potters’ good name,” Mellie said. “The Malfoy family is long disliking the Potters, and the Nott family is always bitter with Mister Potter, they are, and calls them blood-traitors and Muggle-lovers. Mistress Dolly says these are not insults, but Mister Charlus says maybe Mistress Dolly should stick to her potions and stay out of Ministry affairs. Mistress Dolly is dripping a Headache Potion in his tea ever since.” Mellie smiled with something Harry guessed was fondness. Mellie seemed to like Dolly Potter, and Harry did too. “The Black family is always hating the Potter family,” Mellie continued, “especially after Mistress Euphemia is taking in Mister Sirius. Mistress Walburga threatened Mister Fleamont once over it, she did, but Mister Fleamont is a very skilled dueler, and he put her in her proper place.”

“The Black family has a house-elf,” Harry said, “named Kreacher, right? But he belongs to Sirius now, doesn’t he?”

“Kreacher serves the House of Black,” Mellie said with a nod, “but Kreacher is not liking Mister Sirius.” She smiled, a little darkly. “Mellie is liking Mister Sirius. Mister Sirius is a bad boy, but Mellie is liking the headaches he gives Mister James. Mistress Euphemia yells at Mister James for keeping a secret dog that leaves muddy paw prints all over the kitchen, and Mister James is not saying anything, but Mellie knows.” Mellie laughed. “Yes, Mellie likes Mister Sirius, and keeps Mister Sirius’s secrets, but Kreacher is not liking Mister Sirius. Kreacher is only listening to Mistress Walburga and Mister Regulus.”

“Regulus wouldn’t put my name in the Goblet of Fire.” But as Harry said it, doubt creeped in. Regulus had only learned about the tournament through Sirius’s letters. So he said. Regulus had tried to warn him who might have put his name in. Or was that only to throw suspicion off of himself? What motive would Regulus have for hurting Harry? Harry had saved his life last summer.

“Mister Regulus is as bad as Mister Sirius,” Mellie said. “Mister Regulus is a liar and his mother is thinking he is an angel, but Mister Regulus is a bad child. Mister Regulus has bad friends that Mistress Euphemia and Mister Fleamont is not liking. Mellie is telling Kreacher this, and Kreacher is angry with Mellie, because Mister Regulus is nice to Kreacher, but Mellie knows that Mister Regulus’s friends are not nice, and not nice friends makes a not nice boy. Mellie approves of Mister James’s friends. Mellie is liking Mister Remus and Mister Peter.”

“Who are Regulus’s friends?”

“Mister Regulus is friends with Mister Crouch and Misters Lestrange. Not nice at all. Mellie hears things from Winky. Winky is a good secret keeper, but Mellie is smart. Mellie is a good listener. Mellie raised Misters Henry and Charlus, Mister Fleamont, and Mister James, and Mellie knows when boys are lying and troublemaking. Winky is not keeping all her masters’ secrets from Mellie, no. Mellie knows Mister Crouch is not raising his son well. Mellie knows Mister Regulus’s friends are bad. Mister Regulus is not liking Mister James, either. Kreacher tells Mellie this. Kreacher is not liking Mister James and he tells Mellie Mister James is a coward, and Mellie tells Kreacher that Mistress Black is a madwoman who deserves to be locked up because no one is insulting the Potters to Mellie. The Potters is a good family.” Mellie had stopped looking at Harry or Hermione and was now staring at something past them. “Mellie is liking working for the Potters, as Mellie’s mama did and her grandmama did and her great-grandmama did. Mellie is thinking Mistress Lily must be needing her tea. Mistress Lily is needing lots of things to if she is wanting a healthy baby.”

Mellie tried to get out of bed again, but Picksie pulled her back and tucked her under the covers.

“Picksie is sorry,” she said. “Picksie and Mama’s contract with the Potters is very old, and it is not fading easily. Mama is very old, too, and talking a lot is tiring for her. Picksie is sad to ask Mister Harry to go, because Picksie is very happy to be seeing a Potter, looking so much like Mister James, and so healthy, but Picksie is worried for her Mama.”

Mellie grumbled something in protest, but it wasn’t intelligible enough for anyone, not even Picksie, who was standing right next to her.

“We’ll go,” Harry said. “Thank you so much for everything. I’ll tell Mum and Dad I saw you, okay?”

Picksie beamed up at him. “Picksie is liking that very much. Mama is liking it too, I promise. Is you telling Mister Sirius you saw us, too?” she asked, a bit of hope in her voice.

“Sure. I’ll tell Uncle Remus, too. They’ll all be happy to know you’re here.”

Picksie bowed so low her long, pointy nose brushed the floor. “Thank you, Mister Harry Potter, thank you so much!”

Dobby led Harry, Ron, and Hermione back through the kitchens. They were given many gifts of biscuits and eclairs by the house-elves. One even offered Ron a roast chicken, but Ron didn’t know how to carry it, so he had to turn it down. Hermione turned down everything and looked disdainfully at Ron for taking so much.

On the walk back up to the common room, Hermione said, “Do you really think Regulus Black put your name in the goblet? I thought he was helping us. He didn’t do the things he went to Azkaban for.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, and swallowed a chocolate eclair, “but he said himself he did other things that the Ministry didn’t know about. Maybe now that he’s out, it’s like Mellie said, he made bad friends. Maybe he’s back on You-Know-Who’s side after all.”

Harry said nothing as they climbed through the portrait of the Fat Lady. His head was buzzing with everything he’d heard about his family. He should ask Sirius if it was possible for Kreacher to have put his name in the Goblet of Fire, but more than that, he wanted to ask his father about why his great-uncle had married a Black in the first place, if she was so rude. He wanted to know what sorts of potions his great-grandmother Dolly had brewed. He wanted to know about the duel between his grandfather and Sirius’s mother. Harry had so many questions about his family buzzing around in his head that he didn’t even know where to begin.

He said a distracted goodnight to Hermione, and he and Ron went up to their dormitory. He put on his pajamas, said goodnight as Ron turned out the lights, and laid awake for a long time, wondering how many historic duels there were with Malfoys, or how many times his grandmother had scolded his father, and just how much was he really like his family? It was only as he fell asleep that he remembered that Regulus Black might have been the one who put his name into the Goblet of Fire, and he dreamed about a house-elf carrying a goblet full of some horrifyingly dark potion to Lord Voldemort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions, and tarot card spreads appreciated!


	22. The Unexpected Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gryffindor dormitories are a hotbed of drama and gossip as the Yule Ball approaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! Anime Expo is this weekend and while this chapter was long-ready in preparation, this morning was the first time I had thirty minutes to myself to sit down and proof before posting. I've been chained to my sewing machine for the last week. It's been fun and miserable. (Cosplay is so frequently the definition of, "You're going to suffer, but you're going to be happy about it.")
> 
> In more positive news, I think I found out where I get my inspiration for Alice Longbottom. I marathoned Sophia the First while sewing and Aunt Tilly is 100% how I imagine Alice Longbottom.
> 
> Enough chitchat; here's the chapter, only 8 hours late. I could have done worse....

Dear Mum and Dad (and Sirius and Remus),

You know how Hermione has this House-Elf thing, right? Spew? So, she dragged Ron and I down to the kitchens the other day and it turns out Dobby is working at Hogwarts now. Remember the house-elf who got me in trouble in second year? The one who I got Malfoy to free? That Dobby.

Then Dobby introduced us to these other two house-elves. Mellie and Picksie, the ones who used to live at home! They were super excited to meet me. Well, Picksie was. Mellie wasn’t so much. She’s funny, though. I told Picksie I’d say hello. She said she misses all of you and the house. She said specifically to say hello to Sirius. 

McGonagall told us about the Yule Ball. I guess I have to open the dance because I’m a champion. I told her I don’t dance but she said I do now and I have no idea what to do. She said I have to pick a partner and I don’t know how to pick.

Two girls already asked me and I turned them down. I mean, I know who I want to go with, but how do you ask a girl to a dance? She’s always with her friends and I know I’m just going to embarrass myself. Should I write her a letter? A poem? I have no idea what to do.

Love,   
Harry

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

I’m glad to know Mellie and Picksie are doing well. I worried about them quite a bit during and after the war. I feel like a small piece of me has settled.

Girls do like poetry, but honestly, the best advice I can give you is to just ask her. Be polite. It’s okay to ask her to have a private word, if you really can’t ask in front of her friends.

You’ll be great.

Love,  
Dad

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

Girls really aren’t that scary. I promise, you’ll do just fine. All you have to do is ask her.

And I’m glad to know our old house-elves are doing well. I imagine they have some wonderfully embarrassing stories about your father they’d be willing to share with you. Maybe even one or two about me.

Love,  
Mum

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

There isn’t a girl in Hogwarts that would say no to you. You’re the Hogwarts Champion! Just ask her. I’m sure she’ll say yes.

Tell Picksie and Mellie hello from me, too. They’re really sweet. I miss Mellie’s cooking a lot. Your Mum’s alright, but she doesn’t hold a candle to Mellie. Ask Picksie about the Christmas crackers in 1978. She’ll tell you a pretty good story.

Love,  
Sirius

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

It’s good to hear your family house-elves are doing alright. I’m surprised they remembered me. I wasn’t at your father’s house nearly as frequently as Sirius.

It’s okay to be nervous about asking a girl out. It’s definitely not an easy task, as your father can definitely tell you. Your mother turned him down more than once before they finally started dating.

The lesson to be learned is not to be belligerent, but rather know that it’s alright if a girl does turn you down. It isn’t the end of the world. They’re people, just like you, and are probably pretty nervous themselves. Just ask the girl you like, and whatever happens, happens. Don’t worry too much.

Love,  
Remus

\--- --- ---

As Neville put his name down on the list to stay for Christmas, he couldn’t help feeling nervous. He’d always gone home for the holidays. There were big family feasts with his grandmother, his uncles and aunts, and great-uncles and great-aunts. There were always lots of presents to go around, most of them silly or bizarre. One year his great-uncle Algie had found a collection of singing snuff boxes during a trip to America and had put one in each pillow of the house. Aunt Nellie always helped the house-elves out in the kitchen because gooseberry pie just didn’t taste right unless Aunt Nellie was involved. His grandmother would fuss over his hair and dress robes and insist that his hair needed a trim--“Just a quarter inch, Frank. it’s nearly as long as his mother’s by now. Don’t you see it? I’ll do it myself if you can’t.” And then his mother would protest that Neville could grow his hair as long as he liked. Alice and his grandmother disagreed on nearly everything. It had become a matter of principle between them by this point. 

As Neville wrote a letter home, he figured if his mother approved of his staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, his grandmother would disapprove. But if his grandmother decided to approve, his mother would disapprove. What one called two, the other would very tenaciously argue that it must certainly be three.

But Neville was determined to stay. McGonagall had announced that Hogwarts would host the Yule Ball, and Neville, though he would miss the holiday with his family, wanted to stay and be a part of it. There would be a feast and a dance Neville knew at the very least, his father wouldn’t want him to miss it.

The letter he got the next day was short and plain: “Here are your dress robes. Have a good time. Let us know immediately who your date is. Love, Mum and Dad.”

So his grandmother was going to be unhappy, then. She probably wouldn’t say anything to Neville, but she might make snide comments about his absence at Christmas dinner. That was okay with Neville because he wouldn’t be there to hear them.

Though Neville could barely contain his excitement for the coming Yule Ball, first he had to get through end of term exams. It was hard to know which demanded more attention: passing Potions or getting a date.

Neville picked the first, but the latter kept worming its way to the front of his thoughts, like a flobberworm eating through jelly. It didn’t help, either, that everyone else was buzzing about who they were going to ask. 

Neville was in the common room with Dean and Seamus that evening, reviewing for Potions, when Fred interrupted the low hum of activity with a loud shot.

“Oi, Angelina!”

Angelina, as well as everyone else, turned to stare at him.

“Will you go to the ball with me?”

Angelina appraised him like a new dish she wasn’t too sure about sampling. Then she grinned, said, “Yeah, okay,” and went right back to her Astronomy chart.

“Agh, he makes it look so easy,” Seamus complained.

“Well, they’re friends,” said Neville. “Shouldn’t it be easy to ask a friend?”

Dean didn’t look up from his Potions book, but he snorted in disbelief.

“Who’re you asking then?” Seamus asked Neville.

Neville shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought Hermione might like to go with me. I might ask her after class tomorrow.”

“Smart,” Seamus said. “Play it safe.”

Neville didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t want to look stupid by asking, so he figured he was safest to just redirect the question. “Who are you going to ask?”

Seamus shrugged. “Pavarti and Padma are the prettiest, y’kmow? But they’d probably only go out with Harry or Cedric. Way out of our league. But I don’t know want to go with someone like Eloise Midgen or Sophie Roper.”

Dean snorted again.

“What’s so funny?”

“Sophie already has a date.”

“What?”

“She’s going with Anthony Goldstein.”

“Well that’s alright.”

Dean made a face at Seamus. Neville wasn’t quite sure if it was angry or disgusted.

“Who’re you asking, then?” Seamus shot back.

“Haven’t decided.

But Neville thought that Dean was just avoiding Seamus’s question. Seamus thought so too, because he kept pushing.

“Ah, c’mon, you’ve gotta have someone you want to ask. Just hypothetically, if you could have any girl in the school, even, say, Fleur Delacour, who would you ask?”

“Seamus, stop talking.”

“C’mon, mate. Anyone. Anyone at all.”

Dean snapped his book closed. “I’m going to bed.”

Seamus watched him go, bewildered. “What’s got into him?”

Neville honestly had no idea.

\--- --- ---

It wasn’t until after their Transfiguration final on Thursday that Neville got the courage to ask Hermione to the Yule Ball with him. Neville hastily packed his bag after class and ran to catch Hermione before she put all her books away.

“Er--Hermione--I was wondering--”

She didn’t even look up at him. She was trying to squeeze her Transfiguration book between her Ancient Runes and Defense Against the Dark Arts books, but her bag wasn’t having it. “Don’t worry, Neville. Cross-Species Switching isn’t all that difficult, really. I’ll review with you before term starts again. I’m sure you did fine on the exam.”

“No--I--” Neville fumbled with his wand and it shot red sparks, scorching one of the table legs. He hastily stuffed it in his bag. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Yule Ball with me.”

Hermione stopped messing with her books and finally looked up at him. “Oh, Neville, thank you. That’s really nice of you to ask, but--” Her cheeks turned bright pink, and Neville’s stomach dropped to his toes. “--someone else already asked me. And I said I’d go with him.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “You know I would have. You’re a good friend.”

Neville nodded. “Yeah, okay, thanks.” He didn’t know what else to say. What did you say when a girl turned you down?

Neville only felt worse during his Potions final the next day. There weren’t any girls in his year left to ask. Seamus, as much as Neville didn’t understand all of what he meant, had a point about asking in your league. Pavarti and Lavender would never go to the Yule Ball with Neville. There wasn’t much point in asking them. Sophie Roper already had a date, and Sally-Anne Perks wasn’t going at all. She was going home for Christmas.

He couldn’t ask any of the girls in Hufflepuff, because they still weren’t on good terms with Gryffindor. Neville wasn’t sure he’d said two words to Hannah since Halloween, and he knew he’d only talked to Susan once, in a very brief conversation about the Herbology project they’d had mid-November. Neville didn’t see as many “Support Cedric” badges lately, but that didn’t mean they were all friends again. And Neville certainly couldn’t ask the girls in Slytherin. Not that any of them would go with him. Neville also wasn’t very popular with the students in Ravenclaw. He got along with Luna Lovegood well enough, but she was a year younger than him, and the ball wasn’t open to students under fourth year.

All of this buzzed around Neville’s head during and after the Potions final. He didn’t know if he felt queasy because he’d messed up his antidote or because he was anxious. Either way, he hoped a heavy dinner would help.

Harry left Potions quickly, so Neville was left packing up with Ron, who looked about as ill as Neville felt.

“Did your antidote come out alright?” Neville asked.

Ron looked up at him. “Oh, yeah.” He shouldered his bag. “Just--I made Harry promise we’d have dates to the ball by the end of the night. I still don’t know who to ask.”

“I thought you were going with Hermione.”

“What? No! Why’d you think that?”

Neville stopped in the doorway before climbing the steps. “Oh.” He hadn’t realized it was such an offensive question. “I asked Hermione. She’s nice and all, always helping me with my homework, so I thought maybe she’d like to go, but she said she already had a date.”

“That’s rough. Who’d she say it was?” They started up the stairs together. 

“She didn’t. Have you asked anyone yet?”

“Not yet. Who should I ask?”

“Who do you like?”

“Fleur Delacour’s pretty….”

“Have you ever talked to her?”

“Of course not! Well, at the Halloween feast she asked me for one of the French dishes.”

Neville didn’t know why you would spend all night at the Yule Ball with someone you hadn’t spoken to before.

“She’d never go out with me anyway,” Ron sighed.

“You won’t know until you try?” Neville suggested. It was the sort of thing his mother would’ve said, and it sounded appropriate.

Ron looked like he might puke slugs… again. “I guess that’s true.” They’d reached the top of the steps now. “Well, I’m going to go ask someone. Wish me luck.” Ron clapped Neville on the shoulder and started up the east stairwell. Neville headed to the Great Hall a little more slowly.

When he got there, Hermione politely waved him over to her table. He was still a little too embarrassed to sit with her after being turned down--not that it was her fault, but it did sting. At least she didn’t seem to think the Yule Ball date-process was as big of a deal as the boys did, because Neville saw his other seating option was next to Seamus and Dean, who were together but not speaking to each other. Neville still didn’t understand what their fight was about.

So he swallowed his embarrassment and sat next to Hermione.

“Feeling better?” she asked. “Your final can’t have been that bad. At least you didn’t throw up like Crabbe did. I’m sure it wasn’t awful.”

“Oh, yeah, Moody’s book helped a lot. Thanks.”

Talking to Hermione didn’t prove as difficult as Neville had thought it would be. Things weren’t really any different between them after all. Though they didn’t really have much to talk about, now that it was the start of the holidays. Usually they talked about school work, but as there was none of that left, they ate their dinner largely in silence. Neville was okay with that, though. He had a lot he wanted to eat.

Neville was just starting in on the steamed vegetables when Ginny and Helen came running in from the entrance hall, faces pink from the cold. They waved at Hermione, then came running over and sat down. Neville didn’t really like the giddy looks on their faces. It reminded him of Pavarti and Lavender, who always seemed to be laughing at a joke no one else was allowed in on and had only gotten worse with the Yule Ball rapidly approaching.

“Helen just told me who you’re going with!” Ginny said in a rush. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hermione went pink and hastily took a sip of pumpkin juice. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone.” She glanced sideways at Neville. “Please don’t tell Ron or Harry.”

“I won’t,” Ginny said quickly, and also looked at Neville.

“But how,” Hermione set her goblet down, “did Helen find out?”

Helen was grinning from ear-to-ear, and giggled between each word. “I just--I just got asked--by one of the Durmstrang boys!” She was still bright red, though Neville didn’t think that was from the cold or the embarrassment. “And he told me.”

“Congratulations,” Hermione said.

Neville asked, “Why won’t you tell Ron and Harry?”

Hermione’s ears went pink. “They’ll make fun of me.”

Neville thought very highly of Ron and Harry, especially Harry, who had always been nice to him, and who had fought Barty Crouch with him last year. Ron and Harry never made fun of him, and certainly they wouldn’t tease Hermione, who was even closer with them. He was about to protest Hermione’s claim, but remembered Ron’s reaction to hearing Hermione had a date. Maybe Hermione had a point.

“Don’t tell me,” he said. “I don’t want to accidentally tell someone.”

“Thank you, Neville.” She pointed her spoon at Helen. “And don’t you say anything either.”

Helen covered her mouth to suppress another fit of giggles.

Girls, Neville thought, were incredibly strange.

“Wait, Helen,” he said around a bite of pudding, “you’re in third year. I thought you could only go if you were fourth year or older.”

“Oh, no,” Helen straightened up in her seat, all giggles gone and a new air of importance overcame her posture, “you can go if you get asked by someone old enough to go.”

That may have been the best news Neville had heard all day. He felt so relieved and smiled at Ginny. “Would you go with me, then? It’s only that I’d really like to go with a friend and Hermione’s already got a date and--”

“Yes,” Ginny interrupted with a small smile. “Yes, I’ll go to Yule with you.”

Helen let out a high-pitched squeal, all airs of superiority vanishing as suddenly as they’d come. “I’m going to tell Agatha!” She leapt off the bench. “We’re both going! We’re both going!” She practically dragged Ginny after her. “She’s going to be so jealous!”

Ginny held her ground and let Helen run off, though Helen very nearly took Ginny’s hand with her anyway. Ginny swallowed another bite of her dinner. “Agatha was making a big fuss about going home to her boyfriend this Christmas. He’s a Muggle she met last summer, and so Helen’s really thrilled she gets to have one over on Agatha now.”

“Well, at least she’s excited,” Neville said. He didn’t know which part of what he said was funny, but Ginny and Hermione started laughing. He guessed they weren’t laughing at him. They weren’t the sort who usually did. So they must’ve thought he made a joke. Accidentally making a joke was certainly better than trying to make a joke and failing.

As Neville helped himself to another serving of pudding, Hermione glanced at the doors to the Great Hall, not for the first time that evening.

“Where are Ron and Harry?” Hermione asked. “Potions let out ages ago.”

“Ron said he and Harry were supposed to try and get dates tonight,” Neville said.

Ginny frowned. “Oh, dear, I’d better find Ron.”

Ginny took one last bite of her food and left.

Hermione sniffed. It reminded Neville of Dean’s earlier snorts.

“Are you mad at Ron?”

“What? No!” She stuffed her face with food. “He’s just been a… a real pest about this Yule Ball mess, that’s all.”

Neville nodded. “Who are you going with?”

“You said not to tell you.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Neville knew he wasn’t good at keeping secrets, especially from his roommates. But he couldn’t help being curious. He really wanted to know who Hermione’s date was. It wasn’t anyone in Gryffindor. Unless it was Dean Thomas? But then why would a Durmstrang student be the one to tell Helen? Surely she wasn’t going with a Durmstrang student. The were all pure-bloods or half-bloods of some degree, and tended to look down on witches and wizards like Hermione. But then again, he was pure-blooded and he’d asked her.

Neville was so lost in thought about it all evening that he completely forgot to write home about going to the Yule Ball with Ginny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanons, comments, and questions appreciated. Also, tell me how you feel about Ilvermony, and what your Ilvermony house is. (It's okay to be critical of Ilvermony and feel some sort of Ilvermony house pride, though I haven't decided how I feel about using the Native American mascots. I'm a Warrior Class [the wampus]! It's that Gryffindor blood showing strong.)


	23. The Yule Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and co. attend the school dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's late! Last weekend was Anime Expo, and I had to bust out a costume for it. I haven't had a lot of time to write with my new work schedule, either, so I've fallen behind on my deadlines. I hand-wrote all of this chapter yesterday and it came out like ten pages and then I typed it at home today. I've only just finished typing it, so it hasn't actually been proofed, other than what I proofed by hand. I apologize if there are any errors, but I didn't want to go a weekend without posting. It's really important me to update once a week, so I promise I'm doing my best to stay consistent with that!

Dear Mum and Dad,

I’m going to the Yule Ball with Pavarti Patil. She’s not who I really wanted to go with, but she is nice. And she has a twin sister who will go with Ron, so neither of us have to go alone. I still don’t want to do the opening dance. I really wish I was going home for Christmas. This Yule Ball business is too much work.

Also, I passed my finals. Even Potions.

Love,  
Harry

\--- --- ---

Dear Sirius,

I asked Cho Chang to the Yule Ball, but she turned me down. She said she was already going with Cedric Diggory. Really? What’s so great about him? We beat Hufflepuff in the Quidditch game last year.

I mean, It’s not like she knew I wanted to ask her, but I’m still mad about it. I hope they have a miserable time together.

Love,  
Harry

P.S. Give Remus my best. I hope you all have a really quiet weekend.

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

I knew you would get through your finals just fine. You’re a very talented student.

And I’m sure you’ll have a good time at the Yule Ball. Your father and I will miss you dearly. Celebrations just won’t be the same. But you’ll have fun. We’ll have you home next year.

The only thing I want for Christmas is a picture of you and your date in your dress robes. Ask that Colin friend of yours. You know Sirius still has that picture of you with Gilderoy Lockhart that you sent a few years ago. I think he pinned it on the Black family tree.

Love,  
Mum

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

You know we never do things quiet. Moony went headlong into a drapery last night, knocked loose a doxy infestation. Padfoot got about half a dozen stings in his snout. We had quite the time of it opening the antidote bottle without thumbs. Prongs was utterly useless.

Moony’s alright though. The Doxies were agitating for him, even with the potion, so he’s a bit more tired than usual ~~and a bit crankier~~. We had a good time of it all-in-all, though.

Sorry to hear about your date, but your dad said you found one anyway. I’m sure you’ll have fun, and don’t worry too much about what Cho’s up to. Who wouldn’t want to go to the ball with you? It’s her loss.

Love,  
Padfoot, Prongs,

P.S. I am not cranky. Is it too much to ask for someone to bring me a cup of tea in this house? But it is nice of you to be concerned, even though you needn’t be. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas. We’ll miss you.

Love,  
Moony

(and Llewellyn)

\--- --- ---

Harry was grateful for the holiday, not just for the break in classes, but also for the break in attention. Though the castle was more crowded than any holiday he’d spent in the castle before, no one seemed to really care about Harry, at least not with the Yule Ball so close.

The only person who seemed bent on bothering him was Hermione, who nagged him daily about solving the golden egg.

“Have you gotten any further on it?” she asked, while he was trying very hard to focus on his chess game with Ron and figure out how to avoid Ron’s rather violent bishop.

“Yeah, a bit,” he lied. There was nothing about the egg to puzzle out. It just screamed at him. He’d listened for over an hour in the empty dorm until his ears were so hot he thought they’d burst. He had absolutely no insight about the egg, and he honestly didn’t know where to start.

“Don’t you think you should work on it?”

One of Ron’s pawns downed Harry’s knight. The horse limped off the board.

“I’ve got time.” Harry moved his rook, only to have it reduced to rubble by the murderous bishop.

“You’re going to look really foolish when all the other champions know what they’re doing and you don’t have a--”

“Hermione,” Ron said, “lay off. It’s not ‘til February. That’s loads of time. At least wait until after the Yule Ball. By the way, who are you going with?”

Hermione ignored Ron. She picked up Crookshanks and walked away.

He’d been springing the question on her ever since he’d heard from Ginny about her mystery date. But Hermione wasn’t telling. Harry couldn’t understand why. Unless she was going with Malfoy, but that would be--

Ron’s bishop took Harry’s queen. Harry sat back with a defeated sigh.

\--- --- ---

Christmas Day came faster than Harry expected. He woke up feeling like someone was pushing down on his chest. He thought it was stress about the Yule Ball. Then he got his glasses on and realized Dobby was sitting on his chest. When the house-elf came into focus, Harry yelled in surprise and scrambled backwards, slamming into his headboard.

The other four boys in the dormitory bolted upright at the commotion.

“What’s happening?” Dean asked.

Neville yelped like something had bit him.

“It’s okay,” Harry said quickly. “It’s just Dobby. You can go back to bed.”

“Nah,” Seamus said and opened his bed curtains. “Presents.”

There were indeed presents at the foot of everyone’s bed, and lots of them.

“How’d you get in here?” Harry asked Dobby. He felt like he surely would have heard the door, unless house-elves had secret doors in the walls?

“Dobby is Apparating around the castle,” Dobby said.

Ron stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “I though you can’t Apparate in Hogwarts.”

“For a wizard but not for a house-elf.”

Harry wondered if that was because it was convenient for house staff or because no one thought to make the castle impossible for house-elves to Apparate in and out of.

“Can Dobby give Harry Potter his present?”

“You got me a present?” Harry paused, hand halfway to one of the gifts at the end of his bed. “But Dobby, I don’t have anything for you--”

“S’alright,” Ron said with a yawn. He pulled two violet socks from the wrappings in his bed. “Have these, Dobby, from me and Harry.”

“Socks are Dobby’s favorite, favorite clothes!”

Ron smiled, pleased at how well his gift was received. “D’you want a sweater to go with it?” He gave Dobby the maroon sweater that his mother knitted him every Christmas, in Ron’s least favorite color.

Dobby very nearly burst into tears. “Sir is very kind! Dobby knew sir must be a great wizard, for he is Harry Potter’s greatest friend, but Dobby did not know that he was also as generous of spirit, as noble, as selfless--”

“They’re only socks,” Ron said, now a little pink around his ears. He hastily opened his gift from Harry and crammed a bright orange Chudley Cannons hat on his head. “Wow, Harry! Cool!”

Dobby gave his present to Harry. Harry unwrapped it slowly, not sure what to expect at all. And yet, though he hadn’t an inkling of what Dobby could give him for Christmas, he was completely unsurprised to find socks. One was red with broms knit into it, the other green with snitches.

“Dobby is making them himself, sir. Dobby is buying the wool out of his wages.”

“Thanks, Dobby,” said Harry. He pulled them on.

Dobby beamed with pride. “Dobby must get back to the kitchens, sir. But Picksie is saying she is sending up her Christmas present very soon.”

“What is it?”

“Picksie is saying Harry Potter will be knowing it when he is seeing it.” Dobby waved goodbye to Harry and Ron, then disappeared with a pop.

The rest of Harry’s presents were slightly less interesting than Dobby’s socks. From James and Lily, Harry received a new winter cloak with soft fur lining and red cuffs. He thought it nice and unusually extravagant, then realized it was probably meant to be worn over his dress robes. He hung it in his wardrobe. He didn’t know who else was going to have a cloak to wear over their robes.

There was a second gift from his parents, a smaller, less expensive gift, that was much more like his parents--a photograph of James and Lily dancing at their wedding. James looked incredibly unsure of his feet, but let Lily lead him around the dance floor. Sirius was doing something even more ridiculous in the background, trying to steal the spotlight as always.

There was a note attached from his mother: “You can’t be as bad at dancing as your father, and if you are, just let your date lead.”

From Sirius and Remus, he got a penknife with all sorts of fold-out attachments. Hermione gave him a book, naturally, this one about Quidditch teams in Britain. Ron gave him dungbombs and Hagrid gave him candy. From Regulus Black he received a book that looked like it was a record of the Black family spanning back six hundred years. There was a note attached to the inside cover that read, "I heard you were disappointed to lose those letters, and I was too, since I was going to use them to incriminate those in the Dark Lord's inner circle. I think your curiosity was more about Sirius's and my family. This should put that curiosity to rest."

It was an unusual gift, to be sure, but Harry thought it would prove pretty useful. He tucked it into his trunk to look at another day, right next to his golden egg.

The boys finished unwrapping their gifts and sweets were passed around. Neville and Seamus got candies from their family, but the real treat appeared as they were getting ready for breakfast. A large plate of cranberry-orange scones and jam that must’ve been fresh-picked because it smelled someone was growing fruit right in their dorm room.

This was Picksie’s gift, and Harry knew, because it smelled like home.

There was no Christmas tea because of the ball that evening, so Harry and his friends spent their afternoon out on the grounds. Harry stopped by Hagrid’s to say hello and to thank him for the Christmas gift. Hagrid offered them fruitcake, but Ron, Harry, and Hermione politely declined to save room for the feast at the Ball.

They found Fred and George with Alicia and Angelina, sitting in the courtyard. Alicia and Angelina were unusually smiley, Harry thought. He snuck a glance at Hermione and realized she was smiling, too. And actually, the more he looked at her, the more there seemed something wrong with her smile. Something off.

Ron noticed it too.

“Hermione,” he said, “your teeth are smaller.”

She looked at him like he’d asked a particularly dumb question in Transfiguration. “Well, you didn’t expect me to keep those fangs Malfoy gave me, did you?”

“Not that. They’re smaller than before. And straighter.”

Hermione looked a little embarrassed now. “Madam Pomfrey was shrinking them, and told me to tell her to stop when it was back to normal, so I just… I let her carry on a bit longer than that.”

“Well they do look nice,” Harry said.

Hermione beamed at him.

“Hey! If you want to finish up flirting with each other--”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stiffened at the accusation and turned to the steps of the castle, where Ginny was standing, but she wasn’t shouting at them--they all relaxed--she was talking to Fred, George, Alicia, and Angelina.

“--why don’t we get a Quidditch game together?” Ginny finished.

Harry thought that sounded like an excellent idea.

“Oh, no,” Fred laughed. “And let Georgie give me a black eye before the Yule Ball? Not a chance.”

“I would never,’ George said, hand on his chest in exaggerated offense.

“Yes, you would, because I would.”

George bent down to pack a snowball. Fred ducked behind Angelina for cover, and Angelina took the hit square in the chest.

It was like war broke out.

Harry ran for cover as Fred threw a snowball towards him and Ron. He ducked behind a tree and started packing a good-sized retaliation when a snowball hit his shoulder so hard, he was sure it bruised. He turned and saw Ginny laughing behind the wall along the steps. He launched his at her. She ducked, and his snowball caught the edge of the wall, exploding over her in a gentle shower of ice. She stuck her tongue out at him and for her taunt, got hit by Alicia.

The game went on for a few hours. Dean, Seamus, and Lee Jordan joined in. Even a couple of the Durmstrang students left their ship to get in on the fun. They were far better than any Hogwarts students, excepting Fred and George, who had excellent aim from hours of Beater practice with Oliver Wood last year.

In the chaos and excitement, Harry’s nervousness about the impending ball faded. The snowball fight was a sort of Christmas miracle. He felt like weeks of stress lifted with each snowball thrown. Even when Hermione announced that it was time for her to go get ready, and the other girls agreed, Harry still felt good, better than he had since before the Quidditch World Cup.

“What do you need three hours to get ready for?” Ron shouted after Hermione. “Who are you going with?”

But she only waved and disappeared into the castle with Alicia, Angelina, and Ginny.

“Let ‘em be,” Fred said. “Girls gotta get all dolled up while our job is to comb our hair and wear clean robes.”

“Probably wouldn’t hurt to wash your face, either,” George said.

“It might, though. I wouldn’t risk it.”

George threw another snowball at him, and the boys resumed their game. They played until it was too dark to see, then headed upstairs to finally get ready.

Harry washed his face and tried combing his hair, but as usual, it wouldn’t lie flat. He pulled on his new red robes and looked at Ron, who was cutting the lace of his robes with a madness that reminded Harry of Filch chasing muddy first years.

“Ron,” he said, “I just remembered, I have an extra set of dress robes, if you want. They’re old--really old--but you can try them on.” Harry dug his great-great grandmother’s robes out from under his bed and handed them to Ron. He could tell Ron felt ashamed to take the robes from Harry, and Harry felt bad for offering. But Ron looked awful in the lacy, moldy dress robes, and Harry thought the robes from his family would be worlds better, even if they were about as old.

“They’re not exactly expensive,” Harry promised, though he guessed that a Lavinia Potter original might be worth a sizable pocket of galleons. “My great-great grandmother made them, so they’re still old, but they aren’t… lacy.”

Ron finally agreed to change.

Neville was having dress robe troubles of his own. It seemed his sleeves were too big and he’d tried to shrink them, only now they were reduced to cuffs hanging from his shoulders. Seamus had tried to transfigure his belt buckle into a roaring lion and accidentally burned a hole all the way through to his pants.

Dean was left to run around fixing everything. He tapped his wand over neville’s sleeves with a Reverse Spell and returned them to their actual size. Then he used a charm Harry had never seen or heard before that tucked, fastened, and trimmed the sleeves.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Ron asked.

“My mum makes clothes,” Dean said. “I started practicing so I can help when I turn seventeen. It’s a lot easier with magic than when she tried to teach me.”

Ron looked down at his not-exactly-new robes. They did look nicer than the lacy ones, but there was one problem. About five inches of ankle stuck out beneath the hem.

“D’you think you could fix me, too?” Ron asked, looking down at the white drifts of snow piling around his mid-calf.

Dean fixed Seamus’s robes, belt, and buckle, then examined Ron’s hem. “Er… I could try. I’ve never done it on charmed fabric before. Might ruin the artwork.” Dean seemed especially saddened by that as he looked at the silhouettes of snow-covered evergreens on the pine-colored dress robes. “Mum would love these.” He bit down on the inside of his cheek. “I could try adding a white trim? Maybe transfigure the mold out of those lace scraps--”

“No lace,” Ron said firmly. “I’ll go like this, I guess.”

“Trade me,” Harry said. “They’ll fit me, and you can fix these, right Dean?” He lifted the edge of his plain red robes.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, definitely. Much easier.”

Ron looked doubtful, and Harry knew it was because he’d be wearing nice, brand new robes, while Harry wore old ones. But Harry didn’t mind, and he didn’t think of it as charity. It would have been a crime for him to let his best friend go downstairs to the Yule Ball in those horrific lace dress robes.

So thanks to Harry’s quick thinking and Dean’s surprising skill, the Gryffindor fourth-year boys all looked particularly dashing. Even Seamus marveled at how well the green robes brought out Harry’s eyes.

“You finally look the part to dance with Parvati Patil,” Seamus said, “and Ron actually looks like he could be going with Padma.”

Harry felt a little sick to remember he had to open the dance, but Ron looked strengthened by the comment.

The boys headed down to the common room, and Harry was surprised by how much color there was. He was used to seeing all-black robes, but there were all manner of bright colors filling the small space and a fair bit of loud chatter.

Parvati Patil found Harry and Ron at the back of the Fat Lady’s portrait. She appraised Ron quickly, but took her time looking at Harry’s robes. “Well isn’t that… vintage,” she said with a pained smile.

Harry thought he could say her gold-braided hair, gold bracelets, and gilded sari were gaudy, but his mother had raised him better than that.

“They’re a Lavinia Potter original,” he said. “You look nice.”

Parvati wasn’t impressed. “Padma’s meeting us in the entrance hall,” she told Ron.

Ron nodded and scanned the common room on his tiptoes. “Have you seen Hermione?”

Parvati shrugged. “Haven’t seen her. You didn’t find out who her date is, did you?”

Ron shook his head.

Parvati glanced to where Lavender and Seamus were standing, awkwardly close together, and giggling softly. “Lavender thinks she’s lying about her date and has been in the bathroom crying all day.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Harry said. “She probably just didn’t want anyone teasing her while she got ready.” 

As curious as Harry was about Hermione’s date and frustrated with her secrecy, he wasn’t going to stand for any negative comments about Hermione today. Though it did bother him that when he had a secret, the whole school seemed to know an hour later, but when Hermione had a secret, not one person could get an answer, not even a rumor.

“Well I didn’t say it,” Parvati said.

They went downstairs. Padma’s sari was a royal blue that complemented Ron’s deep red nicely. Harry was glad they’d switched robes. He felt strangely at home in these green ones. Maybe because they were family robes, or maybe simply because Parvati didn’t like them. 

From the entrance hall, Harry and Parvati were taken into a side room by Professor McGonagall. Harry remembered the room from his first year, where they’d waited to be sorted. His stomach turned as he realized he would have to walk into the Great Hall in front of everyone. Parvati didn’t seem to mind as she adjusted her gold bangles and her plait.

Harry looked to his left, but that was where Cho and Cedric were. Cho looked stunning in sky-blue robes with a silver sash, but she and Cedric were talking so quietly and closely, like Lavender and Seamus had been, that Harry had to look away. Seeing them close like that made him feel awful.

So he looked right and saw Krum with a girl he didn’t know in periwinkle robes. She didn’t look like one of the BEauxbatons girls, and she was too young to be in a grade much higher than Harry’s. Then she smiled and Harry’s mouth dropped open in unrestrained shock.

“Hermione?”

“Hi Harry!” She smiled and waved. “Hi Parvati!”

Parvati’s face looked about the same as Harry’s, but she recovered as McGonagall led them into the Great Hall.

The rest of Hogwarts seemed as shocked by Hermione as Harry and PArvati had been. HE didn’t blame them, and in fact, Harry was glad to have some of the attention off of him for once. Hermione deserved it.

Her thick hair had been slicked down and twisted up into an elegant knot. Her eyes glittered unusually, but beautifully, and her light, flowy robes made her look light and flowy. She was gorgeous, and Harry was proud to be her friend, though he did wish he’d asked her to the ball, so he wouldn’t have to dave Parvati’s hand gripping his arm so tightly and steering him up to the front like he was some sort of show-hippogriff.

Even the Great Hall looked different, covered in silver and ivy, with gentle snowfall from the ceilings. Instead of house tables, there were several smaller, round tables filling the hall, set to seat about a dozen students each, all lit with white lanterns.

Where the head table usually sat was another round table, and it didn’t have the Hogwarts teachers at it. The teachers were at a table nearby, and at this center table were Dumbledore, Safer, Madame Maxime, Ludo Bagman, Barty Crouch, and eight empty seats for the champions and their dates.

The champions took their seats and Harry ended up next to Mr. Crouch. Next to Parvati sat Fleur Delacour with her date Roger Davies.

The golden plates had no food on them, only little menus. Harry watched Dumbledore place his order directly to his plate. The food appeared immediately. Harry watched Hermione place her order while she carried on a lively conversation with Viktor Krum. She seemed unconcerned with the extra work this might mean for the house-elves. Harry wondered if he could order something made special by Dobby or Picksie, but they were very busy, so Harry asked his plate for roast duck, and it appeared.

Harry didn’t have anything to say to Mr. Crouch, who was responsible for arresting both Remus and Sirius, and he didn’t really have anything to say to Pavarti, so he was left to himself. And anyway, Parvati seemed more interested in looking out at the crowded tables and smiling at anyone she made eye contact with.

Krum and Hermione seemed to be having a wonderful time, talking a lot. Harry realized he hadn’t heard Krum utter a single world before. It was like watching a different person as Krum spoke animatedly to Hermione about Durmstrang.

“Ve have just four floors in our castle,” he said, “but ve have grounds much bigger than these. In vinter, ve have very little daylight, but in summer ve are flying over the lakes and mountains.”

Harry couldn’t hear Hermione’s reply from across the table, but she looked over at him, and Viktor Krum did, too.

“Yes, he vas very good with the dragon. You say he plays for your Quididtch team?”

Safer didn’t seem too happy about Hermione and Krum’s conversation--Harry remembered what Malfoy had said about Durmstrang and blood purity--but Krum didn’t seem to care about Hermione being Muggleborn. The only person besides Safer who seemed bitter about Hermione and Krum was Ron.

Ron was seated a few tables away and hadn’t touched his food. He was only glaring at Krum and Hermione, who seemed positively oblivious. Padma, however, was not, and though she was chatting with Dean Thomas on her other side, and Dean’s date from Beauxbatons that Harry didn’t know, she kept shooting dark looks at ron. He didn’t seem to notice or care.

“How are you doing in the tournament?” Mr. Crouch asked Harry, startling him out of his survey of the hall.

“Oh. Good,” Harry answered. “I guess.”

“You did very well in the first task.”

“Uh, thanks.” Harry tried very hard not to stare at Mr. Crouch’s toothbrush-mustache.

“Have you figured out your egg yet?”

“Nearly.”

“Good man.” Mr. Crouch smiled, but it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes. Harry wondered briefly what it must’ve been like to grow up with Mr. Crouch as a father. Maybe he would’ve turned out like Barty Crouch, Jr., too, at least a little bit.

“Harry,” a silvery voice interrupted. 

He turned, not that Harry wanted to talk to Fleur much more that Mr. Crouch. He also didn’t know what she would want to say to him. She hadn’t spoken to him since they’d been chosen as champions. What had she called him? A little boy?

But she really was leaning around PArvati to talk to him directly. “I cannot help but notice,” she said, “your robes, ze are Lavinia, are ze not?”

“Yes,” Parvati answered for him. “An original--”

“Ah! Plain is in,” Fleur gestured to her own pale yellow robes, “but I ‘ave always wanted a Lavinia original. Especially one so simple, so modern yet magical. ‘Owever did you find one? Even in Pari, I ‘ave not seen one.”

“It’s my great-great-grandmother’s.”

“Oh! And what fine condition she kept it in--”

“I mean my great-great-grandmother is Lavinia Potter.”

Fleur blinked at him. Her posture changed suddenly. She tilted her head a little to the left, her eyes began to glisten like they were moist with oncoming tears, and her smile didn’t so much shrink as become a secret Harry suddenly felt like he had to earn.

“Well, you know, zose robes, ze are vairy becoming on you.”

Harry looked at Cho and Cedric across the table, talking quietly to each other. He didn’t feel so impressed by Fleur when Cho giggled softly, like somehow Cedric had earned her smile.

“Er--thanks,” he said, without looking at Fleur.

Parvati seemed to misinterpret his awkwardness and put her hand on his. It was like Harry could feel the smug smile radiating from her, so he took his hand away and left it under the table for the duration of the dinner.

When everyone had finished eating--or most everyone; Neville was still chewing--Dumbledore stood up and instructed all the students to do the same. The tables vanished. Dumbledore conjured a platform, and The Weird Sisters walked onto the stage. Harry wished he could sink down into his seat, but Parvati took his hand and pulled him forward.

The other champions and their partners all took the floor, and as the music started, Parvati put Harry’s hand on her waist and hers on his shoulder. She steered him around the dance floor and Harry tried not to wince as she put pressure on the bruise he’d gotten from Ginny’s well-aimed snowball.

Harry avoided looking at anyone--especially Cedric and Cho--and instead kept his eyes at a vague spot over Parvati’s head as she led the dance.

It felt like forever, but it really wasn’t that long before other students began to take the dance floor. Harry noticed Neville and Ginny--”Ow, Neville,” and, “I’m sorry. I did practice,” and, “It’s alright, here, just let me lead.”--but he didn’t see Ron anywhere. Dumbledore was waltzing with Madame Maxime, his pointed hat only just past her shoulder. McGonagall was dancing with Safer. They were talking quietly, but it didn’t seem to be the sort of intimate that Harry had seen from the other couples that night. He didn’t know how to make that intimacy happen, and anyway, he didn’t think wanted it with Parvati Patil. She didn’t seem interested in conversation, either. Her eyes were looking at just about everyone but Harry.

The bagpipe churned out one long, quavering note, and AHrry felt relieved the dance was about to end. The audience applauded, and Harry started for the edge of the crowd. “Let’s go sit down, shall we?”

Parvati looked like he’d asked her to squeeze a bubotuber pod. “Oh--but--this is a really good one.” She took his hand as another dance started.

“I don’t like it,” Harry said, without even listening to it. He found a table on the edge of the hall where Ron and Padma were sitting. Padma had her arms crossed and was glaring at Ron, who had his arms crossed and was glaring at Hermione. Harry sat down next to Ron and tried not to glare at Cedric and Cho, but he found it very hard to do much other than look glum and surly.

They hadn’t been sitting for more than half a song when a boy from Beauxbatons with a thick Castilian accent asked Parvati to dance.

“You don’t mind, do you, Harry?” Parvati asked.

Harry shook his head, and Parvati left eagerly with her new partner.

Hermione appeared when the song ended, fanning her face. She smiled at Harry and Ron.

“Hi,” said Harry.

Ron only glared.

“Hot, isn’t it?” Hermione said. “Viktor’s gone to go and get drinks.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Viktor? Hasn’t he asked you to call him Vicky yet?”

“What’s wrong with you?” She looked between Harry and Padma for an answer, but neither gave her one.

“If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he’d rather be in the middle of this or out on the dance floor. They each sounded equally deadly.

“Ron, what--”

“He’s from Durmstrang! He’s competing against Harry, against Hogwarts. You’re--you’re fraternizing with the enemy.”

Padma Patil let out a laugh so sudden and sharp, Harry almost thought he imagined it.

Hermione looked shocked. She recovered well-enough and shouted over the music and over Harry. “Don’t be stupid! The enemy? honestly--Who was it that was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was it that wanted his autograph? Who’s got a model of him up in their dormitory?”

“I s’pose he asked you to come with him while you were in the library?”

“Yes, he did. So what?”

“What happened, trying to get him to join spew, were you?”

Harry got up before Hermione could retort and asked Padma if she wanted to get a drink. Padma quickly took Harry’s hand and they went to a long table full of glasses and bowls of punch, butterbeer, cranberry juice, and something Harry didn’t recognize, but it smelled like rosemary.

Harry helped himself to a butterbeer, then belatedly remembered Padma. She asked him for cranberry.

Drinks in hand, Harry looked back to see if it was safe to return to Ron and Hermione. It didn’t look like it.

“Are you going to dance?” Padma asked.

“Er--no.”

“Well Ron?”

“Doubt it.”

“Padma finished her cranberry juice in three large sips then joined her sister on the dance floor. It didn’t take long for a partner to find her.

Harry went back to Ron and Hermione just in time to be dragged into the fight.

“Harry, you know I would never help Viktor work on the egg. I want you to win.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Ron said.

“This whole tournament is about getting to know foreign wizards and making friends with them!”

“No, it’s about winning!”

Harry wondered if this was how Remus and Sirius felt when James and Lily tried to drag them into their fights. Harry knew from experience it was unwise to take sides, but he couldn’t help but feel Ron was in the wrong.

“Ron, I haven’t got a problem with Hermione coming with Krum--”

Ron didn’t even seem to hear Harry. “Why don’t you just go find Vicky then--”

“Don’t call him Vicky!” Hermione got to her feet and stormed off.

Ron looked strangely satisfied, but still angry.

Harry glanced at Cho on the dance floor. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked Ron.

Ron nodded and they went around the desert table to the entrance hal. Outside, the grounds had been transformed into a rose garden with winding paths and benches along the walkway. everything was lit by what looked like glowing fairies, darting in and out of the bushies. It reminded Harry of the times he’d gone glowworm hunting at home with his mother, but these were much brighter than glowworms. He could also hear running water, suggesting a fountain. It was completely different from the snowy courtyard they’d played in earlier.

Harry tried very hard not to imagine what it would be like to walk through this garden with Cho, or worse, her walking through it with Cedric.

Ron wasn’t any better company outside the Great Hall than inside. He was still sulky as they walked through the garden. They heard Snape blasting apart rose bushes and taking points from students who, as Professor Mcgonagall would have put it, let their hair down too much. Harry and Ron did their best to avoid their least favorite professor, and as they made their way through the winding path, they came across the large fountain, reflecting the waning gibbous moon in its ripples. There were already two very large figures sitting on the bench, watching the water.

“The momen’ I saw you, I knew,” Hagrid said in a soft voice.

Harry wished they could go back, but they could risk running into Snape. He and Ron exchanged uneasy glances, but neither had an idea of how to get out of this situation.

“What did you know, Hagrid?” Madam Maxime asked.

There was another path he and Ron could escape on, but it meant passing a bench that was occupied by Fleur and Roger Davies. Harry jerked his thumb that way, thinking Fleur wouldn’t notice them--she and Roger were quite engrossed in each other--but Ron paled and shook his head.

“I jus’ knew, knew you were like me. Was it yer mother or yer father?”

“I--I don’t know what you mean, ‘Agrid.”

“It was my mother. She was one o’ the las’ ones in Britain. ‘Cours I can’ remember her too well… She left, see, when I was abou’ three. She wasn’ really the maternal sort. Well, it’s jus’ not in their natures, is it? Dunno what happened to her… might be dead fer all I know….”

Madam Maxime didn’t say anything at all. Harry tried very hard not to listen and focused instead on a large green beetle crawling across the bushes in front of him and Ron. He heard Hargrid say something about his father and Dumbledore, but he didn’t pay attention again until Madame Maxime said in a very offended voice, “It is chilly. I think I wil go in now.”

“No, don’ go!” Hagrid said. “I’ve--I’ve never met another one before.”

“Anuzzer what, exactly?”

“Another half-giant, o’ course.”

“‘Ow dare you!” she shrieked. “I ‘ave never been more insulted in my life! ‘Alf-giant? Moi? I ‘ave--I ‘ave big bones.”

Harry really didn’t want to stay, and once Madame Maxime had stormed off, Harry pulled on Ron’s arm.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

But Ron didn’t move. He stared at Harry with wide eyes. “Did you know?” he whispered.

Harry shrugged and pulled Ron along. “I figured.” He remembered Remus making a half-breed comment at his eleventh birthday. He’d always assumed Remus had meant it about himself, but he’d often wondered if it had been about Hagrid too. “But what’s it matter?”

Ron openly gaped at Harry. “But… giants.”

“Yeah? So?”

Ron shook his head. “You’ve heard the stories, haven’t you?”

Harry shrugged. Sure, but he had also grown up with a werewolf as family, so he took monster stories with a lot of skepticism.

“Giants are vicious,” Ron said as they climbed the steps to the entrance hall. “They’re like trolls. They just like killing, everyone knows that.”

“People say the same things about werewolves.”

“Blimey, Harry, Remus isn’t always a werewolf.”

“Technically he is.”

“Yeah, but, I mean--”

“It’s Hagrid. What did you think he was?”

“I always thought he got in the way of a bad Engorgement Charm as a kid or something. No wonder he keeps it quiet. If it got out--”

“No one who knows Hagrid will think he’s dangerous.”

“I’m not arguing with you, mate, but look what happened when word got out about Lupin. I’m not saying anything bad about Hagrid, only that it’s no wonder it’s secret, and no wonder Madame Maxime was so offended.”

Harry felt a little bit better. He was so used to Sirius and his parents defending Remus over everything, he’d forgotten that Ron was not the sort to be judgemental of friends. At least, he hadn’t been before this thing with Hermione started. Harry really hoped it would blow over in a few days, at the most. He wasn’t ready for another fight between friends. He and Ron had only been friends again for a month now. At least when they went back into the Great Hall, Ron ignored Hermione and only went for the snack table.

The Yule Ball ended at midnight. Some people seemed disappointed, but not Harry. He was more than ready for the evening to be over. He and Ron started upstairs when Harry heard someone calling him.

“Hey! Harry,” Cedric waved him to the bottom of the stairs. Cho was waiting a few feet away.

“What’s he want?” Ron asked.

“Dunno,” Harry said. “I’ll catch up.”

Ron continued upstairs and Harry went down to Cedric.

“Listen,” Cedric said softly, leaning close to Harry. “I owe you one for telling me about the dragons. You know that golden egg? Does yours wail when you open it?”

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“Well, take a bath, okay?”

“What?”

“Take a bath, and--er--take the egg with you, and--er--just mull things over in the hot water. It’ll help you think. Trust me.”

Harry stared at him.

“Use the prefects’ bathroom,” Cedric suggested. Password’s ‘pine fresh,’ okay? Gotta go… wanna say goodnight, y’know?” He grinned at Harry.

“No, I don’t know,” said Harry, rather coldly.

Cedric stared at him, still grinning, like he was searching for the joke in Harry’s words. Either he found one or pretended to find one, because he laughed and clapped Harry on the shoulder. Then he went over to Cho.

Hermione was just coming up the stairs. She looked flushed and smiled at Harry.

“Hello.” She was also strangely out of breath.

Harry nodded at her. Watching Cedric walk Cho up the southern staircase made him a little ill. He was about to start up the steps to the Gryffindor tower when he heard Snape’s voice in teh corridor. With no intention of being scolded for still being out, he pulled Hermione into the dark corner of the staircase, carefully hidden from Snape by the railings.

“Hurry it up, Davies,” Snape said sharply.

Davies ran inside, hastily adjusting his messy dress robes. Harry couldn’t help but think, as the large class doors closed, that Snape would’ve taken fifty points if Harry had come in late with mussed dress robes.

Dumbledore closed the doors to the Great Hall and looked at Snape. “Is that all, then?”

“Should be.” Snape waved his wand, and the doors locked with a click.

“Unfortunate we have to do that these days,” Dumbledore mused.

Snape glanced down at his left forearm. “It is growing darker every day. I believe he will call sooner than you can be ready.”

Dumbledore’s sigh seemed heavy with something Harry couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t regret or sadness--acceptance? “I have been ready since Halloween thirteen years ago. As ready as I can be.” He turned to look at Snape, eyes unusually cold. “And what will you do if it burns? Will you run back? Or run away?”

“do not think of me as such a coward--”

“No,” Dumbledore said, “you are many things, Severus, but truly you are a man of your word. Goodnight, and happy Christmas.”

Harry looked at Hermione for answers, but she was as bewildered as he was. They waited until Snape and Dumbledore’s footsteps had long-stopped echoing in the hall before heading up the stairs.

“What was it?” he whispered to her.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. But Halloween thirteen years ago--”

“Yeah, the night Voldemort tried to kill me,” Harry said. “The night he died.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

Harry remembered Trelawney’s prophecy and his burning scar. “Yeah. I think I do. Fairy lights,” he said as they reached Gryffindor Tower.

The common room was mostly empty. Fred and Angelina were talking quietly in one corner, Lavender and Seamus in another. Ron sat on one of the couches, looking sour as ever.

“There you are,” he said to Hermione, as if he didn’t even see Harry. “Did you say goodnight to Vicky?”

Hermione stiffened. “I asked you not to call him that.”

“You shouldn’t go out with someone from Durmstrang,” Ron said hotly. “You don’t know what he wants. That sort--”

“Well if you don’t like it,” Hermione shouted back, “you know what the solution is, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Next time there’s a ball, ask me before someone else does and not as a last resort!” Hermione stormed upstairs, beautiful bun dissolving into stray curls as she walked.

Ron was left behind, gaping. “Well, that just--that just proves it.” He finally looked at Harry. “She’s completely missing the point.”

“No,” Harry said, and climbed the stairs to the dormitory. “I don’t think she is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, headcanons, and pokemon appreciated!


	24. Rita Skeeter's Scoop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rita Skeeter reveals some big information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying so hard to catch up but work's been a nightmare OTL
> 
> I really want to stay on top of this story, though. It's been such a growing experience to give myself deadlines and to make sure I update once a week. Because of my jobs, summers are just always "less paid hours, but more actual work" and I'm struggling this year. So I'm sorry this chapter isn't edited, but I still think it's good and it was a lot of fun to write!
> 
> Thanks for your undying patience with me. I wholly appreciate it.

Dear Mum and Dad,

The Yule Ball went even worse than I expected. Now Ron and Hermione are fighting and Parvati Patil is being really rude to me. I know I wasn’t a very good date, but she wasn’t a good date either, and now she’s seeing a boy from Beauxbaton’s anyway, so I don’t get why she’s still mad at me. She was rude about my dress robes until Fleur Delacour complimented them, then all of a sudden she’s an expert on historical fashion. She was the actual worst and she has no right to be mad at me just because I didn’t want to dance with her. I just don’t like dancing. That’s not my fault! And I wasn’t going to dance with her and have to watch Cedric and Cho dancing together all night. The whole thing was awful.

Ron and Hermione were even worse, if you can believe it. Ron was so rude to Hermione! At least I didn’t spend the evening criticizing CHo’s date to her face. Just to Ron afterwards…. But I was at least polite. Rone was so rude to Hermione, and they’re supposed to be friends. Ginny was polite to me, and I know she has a crush on me, but she didn’t say anything. I don’t want to be mad at Ron. We only just stopped fighting about the Tournament. But I am mad at him. He shouldn’t talk to Hermione that way. And yeah, I’m competing with Viktor Krum (Hermione’s date at the ball), but Hermione likes him okay, and he doesn’t seem like a bad guy to me. Ron was just terrible.

Sorry I didn’t get a picture. I actually didn’t even wear the red dress robes that I bought in Diagon Alley. The ones you sent from Great-Great-Grandmother’s collection didn’t fit Ron well, so we traded, and Dean adjusted the red ones to fit Ron, just because he’s so tall now. Dean was actually really good with everyone’s robes. It was really helpful.

Hope your Christmas was better than mine. Thanks for the gifts! The cloak is really nice, and the photo definitely cheered me up.

Love,  
Harry

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

I’m sorry to hear your night did not go very well. Ours was an unusually quiet Christmas. We missed you terribly. Emmeline Vance, I don’t know if you remember her well, but she threw a big to-do and invited all of our old friends. It was a nice reunion, but we stayed for an hour or so, because we didn’t want Regulus to be alone on Christmas. It didn’t seem right to leave him alone, especially not since he spent his last twelve in Azkaban, and one on-the-run. Though he said his last Christmas was actually a very pleasant affair at the Weasleys’! Maybe some day we’ll be able to tell them and laugh about it.

Your Aunt Petunia sent us a lovely vase. I posted a thank you letter this morning, and heard it will be snowing here this week. All the Muggles were worried about being snowed in! I remember worrying about that as a little girl, but it never happened to us in the suburbs.

I hope you have a much better rest of your holiday. Your father and I will see you for the next task. Let us know if you need any help preparing for it. Don’t be too proud, just because you did well on the first one. We’re proud of you but we’re still very worried. We just want you to be safe.

Love,  
Mum and Dad

\--- --- ---

Dear Remus,

Thank you for the penknife. Really cool gift. I already used it to sharpen some of my quills that were going dull.

I told Mum and Dad how awful the Yule Ball was. The worst of it is that Ron and Hermione are fighting. I even almost got in a fight with Ron, but that was because we overheard Hagrid say he was half-giant. I thought Ron was scared of Hagrid because of it or something, but he wasn’t actually. We just almost got into a fight about magical prejudices over nothing.

How do you stand it when someone makes comments that maybe they don’t mean or understand? I know it can make Mum, Dad, and Sirius pretty mad when people say stuff about werewolves or purebloods, but you’ve never seemed to get mad. Even when Snape was rude to you at school you didn’t say anything. I don’t know how you do it.

I hope you had a good Christmas.

Love,  
Harry

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

I’m sorry your Christmas wasn’t as pleasant as it could have been. Hopefully you’ll be able to look back on it with humor, though I am sure right now it is very frustrating, especially with Ron and Hermione fighting.

I believe you should have had more faith in Ron to begin with, and perhaps that is the answer to your question. I simply have faith in people, and trust that they don’t mean the worst by their words. It’s a dangerous thing to doubt the people you love. It can ruin years of friendship. Ron has show you before that he’s worthy of your trust and he has overcome prejudices in the past. Have faith he’ll continue to pull through in the future.

Our Christmas was pleasant, but very quiet without you. We missed you very much. You’ll have to make up for it next year.

Love,  
Remus

\--- --- ---

Dear Sirius,

Thanks for the penknife. I can’t wait to try it out on some of the locks at home. I bet I could find at least a few that aren’t magically sealed.

The Yule Ball was miserable, my date was rude, and every time I pass Cho Chang in the hallway, she’s holding hands with Cedric Diggory. I can’t stand it. What do you do when the girl you like is dating someone else? I don’t want to be like Ron about it. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t even have Quidditch to beat Cedric in this year, and I can’t work out this stupid egg clue. He said to take a bath with the egg, but what does that even mean? Like the egg will stop screaming if I’m naked or something? It sounds like rubbish.

I got so distracted by the Yule Ball and meeting Mellie and Picksie (who makes wonderful scones, by the way. You should help me convince Mum and Dad to bring them both home with summer) that I forgot to ask you about your house-elf. Ron suggested that a hous-elf might have put my name into the Goblet of Fire. Mellie seemed to think it was possible, and she said there were a lot of pureblood families that didn’t like me so much. She mentioned Kreacher, but I know you and Regulus wouldn’t ask him to put my name in the goblet. Is there someone else who could have asked him? You’ve said before that your family’s pretty bad. Is there anyone left who could have asked him?

Love,  
Harry

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

I’m sorry the Yule Ball didn’t work out for you. It sounds like it should have been more fun than it was.

Can’t say I have any advice to give you about your crush dating someone else. You’re going to have to talk to your dad about that one. He’s got a fair bit of experience when it comes to unrequited love.

As for Kreacher, I asked him and he said he didn’t know anything, and he has to tell me, so we can assume he isn’t lying. I’m pretty sure my orders trump Regulus’s. Probably…. I’ll keep a closer eye on my brother. He keeps running off to the country estate--so he says. I would be careful about what you tell him.

Love,  
Sirius

\--- --- ---

To Mr. Black,

Thank you very much for your Christmas gift. I’ve started reading it when I can’t stand to fill out a Divination star chart any longer, or I get tired of my golden egg screaming at me. Your family really does seem as awful as Sirius says they were, at least in history. I don’t know them personally, obviously. I guess I was just surprised about the Muggle-hunting bit, and that your cousin married one of the Lestranges. Bellatrix actually seemed kind of nice to you in her letters. So did Narcissa. But I don’t know how someone nice could have married Lucius Malfoy or been Draco’s mother. They’re both awful. And I saw her at the Quidditch World Cup, and she looked pretty mean.

I don’t mean to be rude. They are your family, but they just don’t seem like nice people. Really, that makes the history part all the more interesting. I actually got to use some of it in my History of Magic essay on one of the goblin rebellions.

I was looking at the family tree in the front and I noticed some black spots at the bottom, near your name. Did you do that? Is the black smudge next to your name Sirius’s spot?

And now I finally understand how I’m related to Dorea Black. Sirius said it wasn’t by blood, but he explained it really complicated. It’s easier when you can see it.

Your family has married pretty much everyone on the pureblood list. Even the Crouch’s. I talked to Mr. Crouch briefly at the Yule Ball, but he doesn’t talk very much. Was he always like that, or was that just after his son went to Azkaban?

I hope you had a happy Christmas with Sirius, and I hope my parents went all-out for your first real Christmas out of Azkaban. (Does Christmas as a cat at the Weasleys’ really count?) I’m sure your holiday was better than mine.

Thanks again for the present.

\--Harry

\--- --- ---

To Harry,

I’m glad you find the book interesting, though I’m not surprised you find the people appalling. I believe Sirius burned his copy when our mother gifted it to him. He has a tendency for that, and to be quite honest, I think he learned it from her. But if you tell him that he’ll be sulky for days, so maybe don’t mention it.

The blacked-out sections are my mother’s curse. She would burn names off of our family tree tapestry when they disgraced the family, and it was a curse that affected every record of our family. You are correct that the missing name beside mine belongs to Sirius.

The black spot between Bellatrix and Narcissa is cousin Andromeda. She was removed for marrying a Muggle-born wizard. Mother and my Aunt Druella were horrified. It was the center of family drama for years until Sirius ran away to the Potter family. I had no idea what happened to Andromeda until after I’d come here and been living with Sirius. He said she had a baby girl named Nymphadora, who’s an Auror now. I’m glad my mother isn't alive to see it. She’d be furious about a half-blood grandniece, let alone one that held a respected position in the Ministry at such a young age.

And lastly, the one next to my father was our Uncle Alphard’s. He was Sirius’s favorite uncle, and Sirius was, in turn, his favorite nephew. Alphard wasn’t happy with Mother for disinheriting Sirius, so he left Sirius a sizable sum when he died. The rest went to Andromeda. I remember the entire family was furious. It was a huge loss--nearly a third of the Black family inheritance gone. I suppose that’s nothing compared to what Sirius has done with the rest of the estate.

As for my dear cousins that you’ve met through various letters, I still believe Narcissa to be a kind and caring person. She and I were the youngest of our siblings, and though we were far apart in age, we were the closest to each other, even closer than we have been with our older siblings. She took care of me, especially after Sirius left. That was not an easy time for me.

Bellatrix, though, has always cared about one thing only, and that is being a powerful pureblooded witch at the front of the campaign for magical superiority. Her marriage was for two reasons--good stock and political ambition. I’ve found her terrifying since I was small. Sirius has other words to describe her.

Great-Aunt Dorea was, believe it or not, one of our nicer aunts. She was definitely stuck up, and thought her husband’s family queer, but she wasn’t the sort who believed in poisoning her muggle neighbors or excommunicating family members for marrying Muggle-borns. She married Charlus Potter just before Cantankerus Nott wrote the Potters out of the Sacred Twenty-Eight for Henry Potter’s--your great-grandfather--campaign to provide aid to the Muggles fighting in their war. Charlus was considered alright in my family’s book, as he was Henry Potter’s cousin, though I believe they were still living together with their wives. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live in that house. Whenever Grandfather had Ministry of Magic events and ceremonies to attend, especially as tensions grew with the oncoming war, Grandmother would say, “Never attend a party Dolly and Dorea are going to.” It seems it was a saying for her generation to describe any party that was bound to have a fight break out.

To the best of my knowledge, Dorea and Charlus Potter had only one son, who would have been your second cousin twice removed. Last I heard of him, he was wandering Tibet and recording differences in regional magic, which is something no Black would ever consider doing, so I guess the Potter blood in him won out.

Enough about family relations. I really could keep going. You don’t grow up in the Black household without getting a first rate education in familial history and magical pureblood society. 

Christmas was wonderful. Your parents are excellent and gracious hosts. It was unusually energetic compared to Christmases I’m used to--I mean Christmases at home, not just the dismal ones in Azkaban--so I am afraid to say I was not a very lively nor sociable guest, but I was very flattered by the effort your family went through to put the holiday together and to include me.

I’m sorry your Christmas was not as pleasant as it could have been. We’ll have to make it up to you next year.

Sincerely,  
Regulus Arcturus Black

\--- --- ---

To Barnabas Cuffe, Editor-in-Chief of the _Daily Prophet_ ,

I am appalled by the standard of journalism you have allowed the _Daily Prophet_ to fall to. Publishing Rita Skeeter’s articles with unconfirmed sources, using children as credible resources, mystery quotes, and down right rude accusations against not only well-respected members of our magical community, such as Albus Dumbledore, but also well-loved members, such as Rubeus Hagrid, who has been an important part in the lives of generations of students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is an absolutely heinous action. 

I write this letter to both register my complaint and to let you know that, should I continue to see such absurd accusations allowed to pass for journalism again, I will be withdrawing my subscription from the Daily Prophet as well as my financial support. I have always believed in supporting freedom of pres, funding for the arts, and affordable information, accessible to all, but to call these sensationalist stories journalism when they are little more than gossip columns decorated in not only unfounded claims, but also just plainly rude language.

I am most insulted by your choices as an editor and I believe I speak for the majority of your readership when I say that Rita Skeeter is not the sort of journalism I expect from the Daily Prophet.

Sincerely,  
Augusta Longbottom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, headcanons, and poetry always welcome!


	25. The Egg and The Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry figures out his golden egg clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late. This week has been crazy. I had a handful of rush etsy orders and no time to write. But I did make a twitter for weekends like this, where I need to promise you the chapter is coming. The twitter url is HPEveryoneLives so you can follow that for updates on when chapters are coming and when chapters are posted!

Harry was glad to have Hagrid back as a teacher. Rita Skeeter’s article had been upsetting for Hagrid, but between Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore, he’d finally been convinced to return to his post as teacher of Care of Magical Creatures.

He was worried about Hermione--he and Hermione had each shouted at Rita Skeeter and publicly insulted her in Hogsmeade last Saturday. Rita Skeeter probably couldn’t make life much worse for Harry. She’d already insulted his family enough. But Harry didn’t know what Rita might dig up to write about Hermione. Or make up.

That worry had to be set aside though, along with Harry’s pride. He’d promised Hagrid he would win this tournament and tonight that meant he had to finally take Cedric’s advice, as horrible a draught that was to swallow.

He not only decided to take a bath with the egg, but he decided to use the prefects’ bathroom as well. There was less risk of disturbing his roommates with the horrified screeching.

But even with Cedric’s permission to use the private bathroom, a late night escapade was still against the school rules. So that evening he covered himself in the Invisibility Cloak and took the Marauder’s Map as an extra precaution for avoiding Filch.

It wasn’t the most pleasant walk, with a heavy golden egg under one arm and squinting at the Map in his other hand, but he eventually made it unaccosted to the prefect’s bathroom. He whispered the password Cedric had given him, and the door opened. Harry slipped inside before the creaking could attract any unwanted attention and bolted the door behind him. It would not do to be disturbed.

The bath was as large as several swimming pools. Harry took a moment to gaze at it in awe--marble tiles covering the floor and walls, a large wall painting of a blonde sleeping mermaid, hair and skin strangely shimmering in a way that reminded Harry of Fleur, and hundreds of golden pipes running from ceiling to floor and ending in jeweled taps. Harry turned five of those taps just to find the warm water.

When he had filled the tub with warm water, pink and blue bubbles the size of footballs, and something that smelled like peppermint, Harry turned the taps off, disrobed, and slipped into the bath. He set his glasses down carefully on his pile of clothes and picked up the egg. He felt rather stupid, thinking that taking the egg into the bath would make a difference, and he felt even more stupid when he opened the egg and it still screamed at him--a horrifying, piercing shriek that made it feel like someone was drilling into his head through his ears. The mermaid painting flinched in her sleep.

Harry quickly closed the egg and stared at it. He felt embarrassed for thinking the bath would make a difference and angry that Cedric had tricked him, since surely that’s what Cedric had meant to do.

Harry laid on his back and floated in the bubbles. Cedric had said to, “mull things over in the hot water.” Well Harry was certainly doing that but no bright ideas came to mind. He stayed until the water was tepid and just shy of turning cold, but nothing struck him. Exasperated, Harry stopped floating and opened the egg a second time. It shrieked again. Harry quickly closed it and movement in the corner of his eye disturbed him.

The mermaid who had been sleeping in the painting had been startled awake by the egg. She glared at Harry.

“Don’t suppose you know the answer, do you?” Harry asked her.

He didn’t really expect her to answer, so he wasn’t surprised when she just tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and dove into the water. Clearly, Harry had ruined her beauty sleep. He didn’t blame her. He wouldn’t mind being able to breathe underwater to escape the screeching egg either.

That’s when the thought of putting the egg in the water finally occurred to him. Would the water change its sound? 

Harry put the egg under the water and opened it. He didn’t hear screaming. He didn’t hear anything, actually. Harry took a deep breath of air and dunked his head under the surface. Instead of screeching, he was met with the strangest singing he’d ever heard. It was both ethereal and eerie, something he’d never heard before.

A chorus of voices sang,

_Come seek us where our voices sound,_  
We cannot sing above the ground,  
And while you’re searching, ponder this:  
We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss,  
An hour long you’ll have to look,  
And to recover what we took,  
But past an hour, the prospect’s black,  
Too late it’s gone, it won’t come back. 

Harry surfaced for air, but didn’t stay long. It took him three listens under the water to fully memorize the song. He didn’t understand it, but at least Diggory’s hint about the bath--as poorly given as it was--wasn’t given in complete error. But now Harry had a new clue to work out.

“Where our voices sound,” so underwater, Harry guessed. He knew merpeople existed, but it surprised him to think they were here at Hogwarts. Were they visiting for the tournament or did they live in the Black Lake year round? Harry remembered Dennis Creevey’s story of his trip across the lake, how he’d fallen in and been returned to his boat. Maybe it hadn’t been the Giant Squid after all.

That solved the first couplet. The second didn’t take nearly so long. The merpeople had taken something precious to him. Though what it was, he couldn’t guess. He hadn’t noticed anything missing lately.

But what was missing wasn’t nearly as important as the next part: an hour long to look. How was Harry supposed to breathe underwater for an hour? He was a fair swimmer. There was a lake on the edge of his family property that he and his parents had spent plenty of summers at. But even with that, Harry didn’t know how to breathe underwater for an hour.

He got out of the now cold bath and dried off with a fluffy white towel. At least the egg part was solved, and surely at least one of his parents had an answer for how to breathe underwater, right? Though Harry couldn’t say he remembered many trips to the lake that involved extensive underwater dives.

He redressed and checked the Marauder’s Map for Flich. The caretaker was safely in his office with Mrs. Norris. Harry’s path was clear as long as he took the eastern corridor to avoid Peeves the poltergeist, who was bouncing around one of the corridors.

Harry was about to put the mp away when he saw a dot moving around Snape’s office--but it wasn’t labeled Severus Snape. It was labeled Regulus Black.

All of Sirius’s warnings and Mellie’s criticisms about Regulus Black flooded Harry’s mind. He’d ignored them because they didn’t make sense. Was Regulus black a liar with mysterious intentions? Sure. Harry may not have been overly fond of Regulus, but he believed Regulus would not have wanted Harry to be in this tournament. He did not believe Regulus wanted to hurt him. Regulus had plenty of opportunity all last year as Ginny’s cat to harm Harry, but Regulus had only been after Barty Crouch. Harry wanted to believe the best of Regulus, no matter what Sirius said.

This, however, sneaking around Snape’s office, struck Harry as oddly suspicious. The only solution was to investigate.

Harry closed the door to the prefects’ bath behind him and made sure he was completely covered by the Invisibility Cloak. Then with his eyes on the map in case Regulus left or Filch moved, Harry headed down the stairs to the dungeous.

While he walked, he tried to come up with a reasonable explanation for Regulus to be sneaking around Hogwarts at night. Maybe he’d been to see Dumbledore and was on his way out….And was just side-tracked by Snape’s office. Maybe Regulus was visiting Snape. Weren’t they old friends? But why at one in the morning at Hogwarts? Harry checked the map again and Snape was definitely not anywhere near Regulus. Sirius had said Regulus kept sneaking off. Was it always to Hogwarts? And why?

Harry was so focused on the map, he completely forgot about the trick step on the staircase at his feet. He realized too late, when his foot suddenly sank about half a meter lower than he was expecting and his stomach felt like it dropped fifteen meters. He fell forward and dropped the egg and the parchment. It might not have been so bad if the egg hadn’t popped open and begun wailing, and if Harry could reach the marchment and at least disappear the map. He pointed his wand and said, “Mischief managed,” as loud as he dared, but he had no idea if it would work or not.

There were pounding steps echoing along the corridors beneath Harry, barely audible over the egg’s shrieking, and Filch and Mrs. Norris appeared.

Filch closed the egg and cackled loudly. “Peeves!” he shouted, almost gleefully. “Where are you? Stealing from students now, Peeves! You’ll be thrown out for sure this time!”

Harry was grateful that Filch blamed Peeves for the golden egg. Its loss wasn’t important to him. He really hoped that Filch wouldn’t notice the parchment. All Filch had to do was take the egg and go.

But Harry’s hopes of an easy escape were dashed when Snape appeared at the other end of the corridor.

“Filch!” Snape said. “What’s going on?”

“Peeves, Professor,” said Filch. “Stole this egg from a champion and threw it down the stairs.”

“Peeves?” Snape frowned. “No, Peeves could not have broken into my office. A student, no doubt, did that. Help me find the intruder.”

“But Peeves--”

“Peeves can wait.”

“But the headmaster will have to listen to me this time. Peeves has been stealing from a student, this might be my chance to get him thrown out of the castle once and for all--”

“I don’t give a damn about that wretched poltergeist, Filch. It’s my office that--”

Snape was interrupted by heavy clunking footsteps farther down the hall. Professor Moody stepped out into the dim torch light, the scars of his face haunting in the heavy shadows.

“What’s going on here?” he snapped at the two of them.

As Snape and Filch each tried to explain in their separate problems, Harry remembered that Moody’s magical eye could see through Invisibility Cloaks. He was done for.

Moody’s magical eye did indeed come to rest on Harry, but Moody’s face was turned to snape and Filch, and no expression changed on his face.

“Someone broke into your office, eh?” Moody frowned and leaned on his cane. “Best investigate then. Find the intruder. He can’t have gone far. We all came from down this way so he must’ve gone up the stairs.” Moody took the egg from a reluctant Flich. “Mind the trick step. I’m right behind you.”

Harry pressed himself as low on the stairs as he could and Snape and Flich hurried up them, leaping over the step and Harry in their haste. Moody’s limp made it impossible to keep up with Snape and Filch, but Moody didn’t seem to mind. He bent down and helped Harry to his feet.

Harry let the cloak fall to his shoulders as he climbed out of the illusory stair. “Thanks, Professor.”

Moody picked up the parchment on the steps. Harry’s stomach sank as he saw the ink still scrawled over it.

“This yours too, Potter? What is it?”

“It’s--er--a map of the castle, sir.” Harry had already had one professor confiscate the map. He wasn’t too keen on a second, but there was no point in lying. 

Moody’s magical eye seemed to be doing a sort of dance as it whizzed over the map. “Fascinating magical item,” Moody said. “How’d you come by it?”

Fred and George Weasley, but… well, my dad and his friends are the ones that made it.”

A sort of smile twisted its way across Moody’s thickly scarred face. “Clever lads, those boys. I don’t see anyone suspicious on here, though. Did you catch who broke into Snape’s office?” Moody folded the parchment and returned it to Harry. Harry was so grateful to have to map back safely, that he didn’t dare lie.

“Er--I saw Regulus Black.”

Moody frowned. “That slimy son of a Banshee. And I can say that. I knew his mother. What’s he doing in the castle? Last intelligence had him in the south…. And going through Snape’s things? Won’t find anything he’s looking for, I can tell you that. Already been through Snape’s office myself. Clean as a whistle. Maybe too clean.”

“What do you think Regulus Black was looking for?”

“Any number of things….” Moody’s magical eye spun around in three quick circles. “Better tell Dumbledore. You ought to be in bed, young man. Did you figure your egg out?” He returned the golden egg to Harry.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good lad. Don’t need more letters from your mother telling me how to do my job.”

“Er, with all due respect, sir,” Harry said with a small smile, “a lot of students like you as a professor because you teach like she did.”

Moody’s one good eyebrow shot upwards. “Well, she must have don’t something right then. Ah, but she raised you, didn’t she? Brave woman, your mother. Off to bed before I write to her you’ve been skulking around after hours.”

Harry nodded and pulled the cloak back over his head. He made it back safely to his room without running into Peeves, Filch, or Snape. He tucked the golden egg away in his trunk and the mape safely under his pillow.

Tired as he was, sleep didn’t come. Instead his thoughts were as alive as a nest of doxies, buzzing with too many thoughts. Why was Reglus in the castle? Why had Moody searched Snape’s office? Was Snape hiding something? And most importantly, how was he going to breathe underwater for an hour?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions, and curses appreciated!


	26. The Second Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry faces the Black Lake for his second task

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the Bubble-Head Charm even complicated? Who even knows these books make no sense I'm sorry this chapter is rushed here you go have fun *tosses papers in the air*

Dear Mum and Dad (and Uncle Remus and Sirius),

I finally worked out the egg clue. If you put the egg underwater, it finally stops screaming and starts singing. The song inside said merfolk would take something important to me, and I have to get it back within an hour, or I’ll lose it forever. I have no idea how I’m supposed to search underwater for an hour. I could use some help.

While I was going back to the common room after working out the egg clue, I ran into Professor Moody. He mentioned something about searching Snape’s office. Do you know why he would have done that? I can think of a number of things that might be in Snape’s office, but I’m not sure I want to find any of them. I can’t think why Moody would be interested in it, either.

Moody’s a really great professor, though. He saw the map and he gave it right back. I can’t think why he would do that, but I’m really glad he did.

Better news, Hagrid is teaching again, finally. Dumbledore talked to him, and Hermione, Ron, and I helped. It’s good to have him teaching again, and he finally abandoned Skrewts to continue Professor Grubbly Plank’s lesson on unicorns. It’s a lot better, so at least something good came out of Rita Skeeter’s article.

Please write back about the second task soon.

Love,  
Harry

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

Can’t you just transfigure yourself into a fish? Become an Animagus. I’m told it’s relatively simple.

And since you’ll only have an hour to look, I’ve attached a list of signs that you’re close to a merfolk dwelling. They like the coldest waters, so you’ll have to go deep, and they have a very particular effect on the pattern of plant growth. It shouldn’t be too hard for you to spot when you know what you’re looking for.

Love,  
Uncle Remus

P.S. I’m joking about the transfiguration. Sirius thinks I’m being serious. Doesn’t he know that’s his job?

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

Do NOT try human transfiguration. I don’t care what Remus said. Your dad, Peter, and I told him it was easy, to make him feel better, but it’s not easy. It took us the better part of three years to get it done, and we didn’t even start on the really hard stuff until our fifth year. There were hours of research. Most students don’t start until they get to N.E.W.T. classes.

Remus says he’s joking, that he’d never seriously tell you to try human transfiguration, but I can’t always tell with him. I hope he actually has something more useful for you, because I’m at a loss. Swimming was never a strong suit of mine.

Can’t say I know why Moody would be searching Snape’s office, other than Snape’s a creepy slimy git, and Moody’s suspicious of anyone who looks at him or doesn’t look at him. That’s just how he is. Not surprised he gave you the map back. He’d be a big fan of keeping an eye out for yourself. Constant vigilance, and all that. He used to say that all the time back in the Order. I hear he still does.

I hope your Mum or Dad has something better for you. I’ll see what I can dig up in the library after we get through this week’s moon.

Love,  
Sirius

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

I’m so glad you were able to work the clue out. Breathing underwater for an hour is not an easy task.

I would suggest the Bubble-Head Charm, but you’ll need to practice it. I’m not sure you’ll be able to master it in a week, but if anyone can, it’s you.

It’s both charm and transfiguration. You’ll need to be able to transfigure the air into a filter between you and the water, to only let in fresh air, otherwise your charm will not be able to last the entire hour. You’ll get fifteen minutes out of it at best.

I’ve attached the incantation and as detailed a description as I can. Best of luck. Maybe your father has a simpler solution. He’s good at finding the easy way out of things.

I don’t know what you mean by a map. Do you have a map of the castle? I can’t imagine it’s very helpful, if the castle is constantly changing staircases or with doors appearing at strange times. But I’m glad you’re getting along with Professor Moody. He was a good mentor to your father and I long ago, and I’m comforted to know he’s there for you.

And, because he is who he is, I’m sure he investigated every teacher’s classroom. He’s very particular about those things.

Love,  
Mum

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

Ask Mellie. I remember something about your great-grandfather breathing under water, but I don’t remember the story well enough to give you a complete explanation. Mellie should remember. She remembers all the old family stories.

Love,  
Dad

\--- --- ---

Harry did not tell his family he’d seen Regulus on the map. Sure, they had a right to know, and maybe Dumbledore would tell them, but Harry knew that Regulus read Sirius’s letters, and Harry did not want Regulus--or his mother--to be aware of the Marauder’s Map.

But he did tell Ron and Hermione.

“I expect Professor Moody searched all the professors’ offices,” Hermione said, then banished her pillow to the corner of the room.

“He said ‘won’t find what he’s looking for’?” Ron said. His pillow moved about a foot before stopping abruptly. He wasn’t getting the Banishing Charm as easily as Hermione had. “What’s that mean? Does Moody think Regulus Black is after something? Something dark, probably, knowing Snape.” 

“That’s what it sounded like,” Harry agreed. “Moody doesn’t know that Regulus Black’s on our side now, though.”

“Is he?” asked Hermione. “Can we really trust him?”

“Dumbledore trusts him,” said Harry.

Ron pointed his wand at his pillow again, and this time, when he said the spell, it successfully sailed across the room. “Dumbledore trusts Snape, though.”

“Regulus called me in the fireplace,” Harry said. “He risked getting discovered just to see if he could figure out who put my name in the goblet. He wouldn’t do that if he knew already.”

“Is that what he was looking for? Regulus thinks Snape put your name in and he wanted proof?”

Harry finally got his cushion banished to the other side of the classroom, and he summoned it back. “He did say he was suspicious of Snape.”

“Snape wouldn’t put your name in,” Hermione said. “Remember he saved your life when Quirrell tried to jinx your broom?”

Harry did remember. He’d never understood that. Snape hated him, or more accurately, Snape hated James and took it out on him. Which Harry also didn’t understand, because from what Harry knew, Snape ought to hate Sirius the most. Not that Snape seemed to have any love for Sirius, either.

Harry just didn’t understand Snape, and he didn’t even think understanding Snape would make his life in Potions any easier. 

He wasn’t sure if the hatred was enough to throw him in the tournament, though. Maybe? Snape probably didn’t want him dead. And Regulus Black would have had plenty of opportunities to kill him while he was in the castle. But Barty Crouch, Jr. would have too, and he hadn’t tried to kill Harry the entire time he was Ron Weasley’s weasel. Why?

Harry’s head hurt from all the questions, and he didn’t think that was the fault of his scar. At least not today.

After an exciting Care of Magical Creatures class with Hagrid, where they pet golden unicorn foals that were surprisingly gentle and social, and a far less interesting Divination class where Professor Trelawney went on about Pluto, Neptune, and Uranus all being in retrograde, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found an unused classroom to try out the Bubble-Head Charm.

Lily had given him explicit instructions. She had been an excellent teacher during the half-year she’d been at Hogwarts, and even though this wasn’t Defense Against the Dark Arts, her patience, talent, and attention to detail showed in the lengthy description of the spell.

Despite that, Harry struggled. Maybe it was a block, like he’d developed over the Summoning Charm. Maybe he just wasn’t good enough at Transfiguration to perfect it, which was disappointing because his father and Sirius were so talented at Transfiguration.

Hermione had taken to trying it herself, and even she struggled. There was a moment where Harry thought she had it. A large bubble had appeared over her head, warping her face, just like Lily had said the spell should. But then it popped and there was a burst of water all over Hermione and the floor. Her curly hair hung limp around her shoulders and her robes were soaked.

She gasped for breath. “I was trying to make the filter, but I think I filtered it backwards.”

Harry didn’t know how that was possible. By the end of the evening, he’d managed to get the bubble around his head, but he didn’t think it was filtered properly. He kept it around his head for about thirty minutes, until he began to feel lightheaded. He tapped the charm, the bubble popped, and he could breathe again. He knew if he was swimming, and expending his energy, he wouldn’t get very far on one bubble unless he managed to perfect the filter.

“D’you think I could find it in fifteen minutes?” Harry asked with a defeated sigh.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” Hermione said. “We still have a couple of days.”

Harry didn’t know if it would do the trick. If even Hermione couldn’t master this spell, what chance did he have?

He should probably ask Mellie. He didn’t know what is dad was thinking, but he didn’t blame him for the brief letter. The full moon was tonight, so he was sure his father was busy. He couldn’t expect a detailed reply from James, Sirius, or Remus until after the task was already finished.

The problem with asking Picksie was that she would be down in the kitchens. Harry could get there rather easily with his Invisibility Cloak, but there were two obstacles in his way: Snape, who suspected the use of the cloak and would be on high alert for any suspicious sounds, and Moody, who could see through the cloak. Harry checked each night, and even when he would wake up in the middle of the night, to see if the pathway was safe. But one of them was always watching the passageways at the bottom of the castle. Why did the kitchens have to be off the same path as the dungeons?

Harry wondered if he could slip down that way while Moody and Snape were teaching, but that would mean ditching one of his classes, and surely that would get back to Snape. If it was for the tournament, did that make it okay? Harry thought that would only make it worse.

He, Ron, and Hermione practiced all night before the task, skipping dinner for the extra time. Harry still could only get the bubble to last for thirty minutes. Anything longer and he ran out of air. Hermione had started practicing more basic Transfiguration spells, but creating something water-tight-but-not-air-tight wasn’t easy.

“You’ll just have to do it in thirty minutes,” Ron said. “Shouldn’t be that hard. Mr. Lupin told you where to look, right?”

Harry ran his hand through his hair. “I want to try a little lo--”

There was a knock on the frame of the classroom door. Their secret-empty-classroom apparently wasn’t as secret as they thought.

“There you are,” Fred said.

“McGonagall’s looking for you,” said George.

“Me?” Harry asked. What had he done this time? Or did it have to do with the task tomorrow?

“No, for Ron and Hermione. She seemed pretty grim, too,” Fred said.

Hermione and Ron looked at each other, but neither had an answer.

“We’ll see you back in the common room, Harry,” Hermione said, and she and Ron followed Fred and George out into the corridor.

Harry tried the Bubble-Head Charm one more time, but after a half hour, sitting and breathing, he started to run out of air.

Harry popped the bubble. He pulled the Marauder’s Map out of his robes, thinking it might be worth the risk to just sneak down to the kitchens. Maybe he could avoid Snape or Moody.

The corridor downstairs, however, was empty tonight.

Harry didn’t know where Snape and Moody were, maybe getting things ready for the second task in the morning, maybe having a midnight Firewhiskey, but whatever the reason, Harry didn’t care. He practically ran back to the dormitory, grabbed the Invisibility Cloak, and slunk down to the basement of the castle. He kept the map out, checking it with his wand, and made sure to keep, “Mischief Managed,” on the tip of his tongue, just in case he needed to vanish the map quickly. He also scanned it for Regulus Black, but there was no sign.

Harry reached the portrait of the bowl of fruit without real incident--only one moment where he had to duck behind a suit of armor while Peeves bounced past with a loud but catchy song about children drowning. Harry did not appreciate it.

When Harry stepped into the kitchens, it was unusually slow. There were only a few house-elves running around preparing midnight tea and scones for some of the professors. Harry had arrived in the one quiet hour just between cleaning up from dinner and the early preparations for breakfast.

“It’s Mister Harry Potter,” a house-elf squeaked, and before long all the house-elves knew he was in the kitchen and were asking Harry if he would like tea or scones or biscuits.

“Actually… I didn’t get any dinner,” Harry said. The words were hardly out of his mouth before the house-elves were procuring an entire feast just for him.

Dobby was there suddenly, too. Apparently word went around even to the sleeping house-elves that Harry was visiting the kitchens.

“Hey, Dobby,” Harry said.

“Good evening, Harry Potter!” Dobby said, hastily cramming a hat on his head. “You have come to see Dobby again!”

Harry couldn’t bear to say no. “Yeah, Dobby, how are you?”

He and Dobby talked for a bit. Dobby told him all about everything happening in the kitchens. It sounded like a busy and exciting life, but Harry couldn’t imagine doing it all day every day. Dobby also told Harry about all the new knitting patterns he was trying out on his days off. That interested Harry less, but he liked that Dobby had something he was excited about.

“Dobby,” Harry interrupted gently, “do you know if Mellie would be awake right now? I need to ask her something.”

“Oh, yes, Mellie sleeps all day and is up complaining all night,” Dobby said. He took Harry’s hand and took him through the kitchen all the way to the back. There were a lot of house-elves sleeping in their little house-elf beds, and when they reached the room for the old house-elves, there were three wrinkly house-elves, sound asleep, and snoring quietly.

Mellie, however, just as Dobby had said, was sitting up and fussing with the sheets on her bed. She glared at Dobby.

“Where’s Picksie? These sheets are too dirty. Mellie is going to get a basin and clean them herself! There’s too much dust over there--Ah, Mister Potter, your face is needing washing. Come here, let Mellie clean it--Goodness, how is your mother letting you run around like this--”

Harry let Mellie wipe his face with a cloth, trying hard to suppress his laughter, and sat down next to her bed. “Hi, Mellie,” he grinned.

She gave him a little humph, then took his glasses and wiped them clean. “Potters is always wearing smudging glasses. Mellie is not knowing how the Potters is seeing anything. No wonder Mister James is always leaving his wand about.”

“Actually, Mellie,” Harry said, “My dad told me to ask you something. See, I have to find a way to breathe underwater for an hour. I don’t know how to do it, but dad said you would know.”

Mellie let out one short, sharp laugh. “Mister Henry is breathing underwater all the time.”

“Really? How does he do it? Is it the Bubble-Head Charm, because I can’t do that.”

But Mellie did not say how. She started to spin her story, which might’ve interested Harry if it were any other time except the night before the second task.

“Mister Charlus is angry with Mister Henry. Mister Henry speaks out about helping Muggles to the Ministry and Mister Charlus says it is Mister Henry’s fault he and his in-laws are fighting. Mister Charlus threatens to take the inheritance for his son, since Mister Henry and Mistress Dolly are not having children yet, but Mister Henry does not want Mister Charlus to get certain things, so Mister Henry is throwing them in the lake.”

“But how does he breathe underwater?” Harry asked impatiently.

Mellie ignored him. “Mister Henry puts Impervious Charms on important family history and throws them in the water so Mister Charlus cannot find them or sumon them. Mistress Dorea is finding out one day, and she tells Mister Charlus, but Mister Charlus cannot get the heirlooms. The water is too deep and murky. Then Mister Fleamont is born, and Mister Charlus is not having a right to the family fortune for his son. It is going to Mister Henry’s son, so Mister Henry fishes heirlooms out, a few out a time, for his family.”

“But how did he do it?”

“Gillyweed, Mister Potter. It is growing on the edge of the lake. Nice, moist, marsh on the west end. Mister Charlus is allergic so he is not getting it. It will help you breathe for one hour in the water, it will protect you from the cold, and it will allow you to see clearly.”

“Where am I supposed to get some?” Harry asked.

“Dobby knows!” Dobby said suddenly. “Dobby will get Harry Potter gillyweed so he can complete his task! Harry Potter will win the Triwizard Tournament and Dobby will help! Dobby will bring Harry Potter the gillyweed in the morning.”

“Oh. Thanks Dobby. And thanks Mellie.”

“Mister Potter should be in bed by now,” Mellie said. “Mister Potter’s bed time is seven o’clock. Mistress Dolly is insisting.”

“I don’t have a bed time.”

“Mister Potter is needing rest before his tournament, he is. Mister Potter is going to get some sleep.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” Harry got up, thanked Mellie again for the help. On his way out, he thanked the house-elves for the food. They sent him up with more, which he gratefully accepted, thinking Ron and Hermione were probably starving, since they’d skipped dinner to help him work out the Bubble-Head Charm.

But when he got to the Common Room, Ron and Hermione weren’t there. He thought that was odd, so he waited on the couch with them. Fred and George were up, too, poring over a parchment. Harry asked what they were up to, but they ignored him. He thought that a bit rude. They treated Ron that way, sure, but Ron was family. Harry didn’t know if he should be insulted, or proud that he was equal to Ron.

He waited for Ron and Hermione until midnight. They still didn’t show up. He wondered what Professor McGonagall could have wanted them for, but it didn’t seem like they would be back any time soon. It wasn’t like McGonagall to keep students out of bed. Harry checked the map, and there they were, in McGonagall’s office, with Professor McGonagall. Harry figured at the least, he should try to sleep. It wouldn’t do to not have any rest before tomorrow’s task.

\--- --- ---

Lily felt a little better about the second task than she had about the first one. The first task had been facing a dragon which was daunting for any wizard. Swimming, however, was something she knew Harry was good at. There might be grindylows in the lake, but Remus assured her Harry had successfully handled the grindylow in his third year Defense Against the Dark Arts final. She only had to worry that Harry had figured out the Bubble-Head Charm and that he would return within the time limit. The second worry, though, was marginal. She wanted Harry to win, of course, but more than winning, she wanted him to stay alive.

She and James arrived at their Hogsmeade cottage, with Padfoot, who had insisted on attending.

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay and look after Remus?” James had asked. But Sirius and Remus had both agreed that supporting Harry was the priority of the day.

James and Lily followed the crowds to the castle, then down to the Black Lake. Lily and James greeted their old teachers, and Lily’s former co-workers, as they settled into the seats next to the judges’ stand.

“Your dog goes everywhere with you now, eh?” Hagrid ask, scratching the large black dog with a hand.

Padfoot barked.

“He’s gotten better behaved in his old age,” James said with a grin, then winced as Padfoot’s wagging tail thumped unusually hard against his leg.

Lily and Minerva exchanged brief kisses on the cheek. “How is he?” Lily asked.

“He’ll be alright,” Minerva promised and squeezed Lily’s hand. “I’m sure he’s figured something out.”

Lily certainly hoped so.

The champions stood on the lake. They waded into the water at the sound of the cannon. Cedric and Fleur performed perfect Bubble-Head Charms before diving into the water. Krum transfigured himself into a shark--or at least partially transfigured himself into a shark--then disappeared under the Black Lake. Harry stopped when the water reached his waist. He didn’t move.

“Quit now, Potter!” a voice that was clearly Draco Malfoy’s called out from the stands.

Lily resisted the urge to yell back. Padfoot barked.

Then, suddenly, Harry dove into the water.

“What is it? What did he do?” Lily gripped James’s arm.

“He’ll come up for air if whatever it was didn’t work. I’m sure he’s fine.”

But Lily had known James for twenty-five years, and she knew he was as nervous as she was.

It wasn’t the most thrilling of the tasks as an audience member. They could only watch the surface of the Black Lake and wait for a champion to come up. Ludo Bagman would receive an update every five minutes from a merman, who surfaced to say something in mermish to Dumbledore and Barty Crouch, then disappeared back underwater. Dumbledore and Crouch would translate to Ludo, and Ludo would announce it to the crowd.

“Harry Potter is the champion closest to the merfolk village,” Ludo finally announced, after forty-five minutes. “His use of the gillyweed plant has given him speed matched only by that of Krum, whose partial transfiguration is proving successful.”

“That’s right,” James said with a smile. “It was gillyweed.”

“What was?”

“I had him ask Mellie for help. My dad used to tell me this old story about my grandfather swimming in the lake for hours. I couldn’t remember how he did it, but I knew Mellie would. Looks like Harry took my advice.”

“I suppose he does take after me,” Lily said.

James laughed. “I don’t know where he gets that. You and I are terrible at taking advice. Even Remus never takes advice from anyone.”

Lily laughed, and it felt good to laugh despite her worries. It seemed like they didn’t laugh as much as they used to these last few years. “I suppose if we were in the Triwizard Tournament we would take any advice we could get.”

“Sirius said Harry resisted the advice from Cedric about the egg clue for a while.”

“Then at least we know he’s certainly our son.”

At fifty minutes, Fleur surfaced suddenly, teary-eyed, with red scratches all down her arms.

“Grindylows must’ve got her,” James said and squeezed Lily’s hand.

“Remus promised us Harry could handle grindylows,” Lily assured him.

James nodded. 

The clock struck an hour, without a single champion having completed the task. Only a minute later, Cedric emerged with Cho Chang on his arm. He helped her to shore and they were given thick towels to dry off and warm up. The Hufflepuff crowd cheered for Cedric, and most of the Hogwarts students cheered, though the Gryffindor crowd seemed to do so half-heartedly.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“He’ll come soon,” James promised.

Viktor Krum was next with Hermione Granger. There was still no sign of Harry.

“How long does gillyweed last?” Lily asked.

“I don’t think that came up in dad’s stories. Or if it did, I sure don’t remember.”

Finally, at an hour and thirty minutes, Harry returned to the surface of the lake with Ron and a small blonde girl Lily didn’t know.

She, James, and Padfoot rushed to the edge of the lake as the three children stumbled onto the shore.

She hugged him and squeezed him through the towel. “You did it! You did it! We’re so proud.”

Harry looked up at her, grinning and panting for breath. “Did I really?”

“You were outside the time limit,” James said, “but everyone was, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

James and Lily stepped aside so Hermione could offer Harry her congratulations, and she and Ron told Harry all about how they’d been put to sleep to be left under the Black Lake.

Fleur Delacour also came over and congratulated Harry. She gave both Harry and Ron a kiss on the cheek for saving Gabriella, despite Hermione’s assurances no one had been in any real danger.

James nudged Lily’s side. “Look.”

The MerChieftaness Murcus had come to the surface of the lake. She spent several minutes in conversation with Dumbledore and Crouch. Then Dumbledore called a meeting of the judges before they would announce the points.

“What’s that about, you think?” James asked.

“I don’t know. Harry’s fine, and we only have one more task to go. That’s more important than his score.”

“True. But I still want him to win.”

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t, or that he can’t. He tied for first in the last task, but his score really isn’t the priority.”

“I know, I know.”

Ludo Bagman stepped out of the crowd of judges and put his wand to his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said with his magnified voice. The stands went quiet. “We have reached our decision. Mercheiftaness Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions as follows….

“Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points.

“Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour. We therefore award him forty-seven points.

“Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points.

“Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect. He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftaness informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own.”

“Merlin,” James muttered under his breath. “Was I that thick at fourteen?”

“Yes,” Lily whispered back and squeezed his hand. “And that kind. Most of the time, anyway.”

“Most of the judges,” Bagman continued, “feel this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However… Mr. Potter’s score is forty-five points.”

Hogwarts erupted into cheers, and Ron and Hermione laughed almost as loud as the entire crowd as they hugged Harry. Padfoot ran circles around the children, barking cheerfully.

“You’re tired with Cedric!” Ron shouted. “You’re in first place!”

James took Lily’s hand. She squeezed it.

“Two down,” she said.

“One to go,” he said.

“He really could win, couldn’t he?”

“I never doubted him,” James grinned.

Lily laughed. “We both know that’s not entirely true.”

“I never doubted he’d survive,” James amended.

“And I’m so glad for that.” Lily kissed the back of James hand. She worried more than James did, because James had grown up with a luxury of hope she’d never had. And that was alright. He believed the best of everything and everyone. Lily wished she could, but she’d been hurt too often, by too many things, to trust that the world would always right itself. At least so far, they’d survived. She was grateful for that, and for James’s faith, that kept her out of despair.

They hugged Harry one last time and congratulated him, before going home.

They met Remus, who had just made himself a cup of tea. He duplicated the tea for Lily, James, and Sirius, then Sirius launched into a surprisingly detailed description of the tournament, for how much they actually saw. Lily didn’t mind. She let Sirius tell a story of what might have happened, with her son as the hero.

She only prayed that, as the tournament went on, and the years went on, the stories would stay that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanons, questions, and comments always appreciated.


	27. Padfoot (and Moony) Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius take a trip into Hogsmeade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many things to say before we begin:
> 
> 1) I'm so sorry this is late. For its length, it really should not have taken me as many late nights as it did. I'm so sorry. This is my last week teaching summer school, then I finally get a week off. I seriously can't wait. I honestly want to finish Goblet of Fire before the fall semester starts up.
> 
> 2) This chapter is so painfully rushed. I could feel it while I was writing. I'm utterly exhausted, running on decaf coffee and the worst possible sleep on a stiff couch for a couple hours and a stiff bed for a few minutes. It's been a rough weekend. So in my exhaustion, I feel like the story is rushed, but no amount of editing is going to fix it.
> 
> 3) As an apology for the lack of quality in these last few chapters (because they've all been first drafts, instead of the usual two or three drafts I go through before posting, since my beta and I usually work on these things long before they get posted), I will be revamping the last ten chapters in the upcoming months. I actually fully intend to comb through Philosopher's Stone to Goblet of Fire and embellish, add detail, slow parts down. It will do nothing to the story, but my writing has improved since then, so I want to do my best to bring all the stories up to par with where I am as a writer. So expect me to post more about that in the future.
> 
> 4) I'M GOING TO HARRY POTTER WORLD NEXT SATURDAY AND I'M SO EXCITED. I'm going to the one in Los Angeles with my cousin, who has so graciously bought me tickets. She is a saint. We're both so excited. Any recommendations, must dos, must buys, etc?
> 
> 5) LASTLY (and possibly most importantly): Are you watching the Olympics? [This is 100% James and Lily at the First Task.](https://youtu.be/BisYoRrjpNs) Watch it and amuse yourself. This is also them at literally every Quidditch match. I promise.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience. Please enjoy this chapter. Expect me to post Chapter Twenty-Eight next weekend as usual, since I will officially be done writing history lectures after Thursday night.

“Come with me,” Sirius said.

Remus was sitting in the parlor of Grimmauld Place with the latest edition of Witch Weekly in his hands. It wasn’t the sort of magazine he would normally pick up, but when he was in Diagon Alley yesterday, he’d seen the cover teaser: “Harry Potter, The Boy Who Loved? page 38-40” on the cover, so he’d added it to his purchase at the last minute. It was no surprise the article was by Rita Skeeter, so Remus doubted the veracity of any of the information in the article. He would have to ask Harry about it later, though. If Harry was having love troubles, Remus wanted to know about it. Not that Remus was the best for advice when it came to matters of the heart, but he’d like to at least be there for Harry.

He closed the magazine and looked up at Sirius. “Where are we going?”

“Just out.” Sirius glanced quickly towards the kitchen.

Remus got the message: “I don’t want Regulus to know.”

He wasn’t fond of Regulus and Sirius keeping secrets from each other, not if they wanted to repair their relationship. But now was probably not the time to have a conversation about honestly.

“Please come,” Sirius said. “You could use the fresh air.”

“I went outside yesterday.”

“Please.”

Remus dropped the magazine onto the tea table. He certainly wouldn’t mind a nice stroll outside. Though he wasn’t sure how far he could stroll. His joints had been protesting the full moons worse than usual these last few months. He didn’t know if it was age or a remnant of his brief stint in Azkaban. Or maybe there was a perigee moon coming up. He’d have to pick up an almanac.

As soon as they were outside Grimmauld Place, Remus asked again, “Where are we going?”

“Hogsmeade,” Sirius answered.

“Why Hogsmeade?”

Sirius looked strangely anxious as he glanced over his shoulder at the house. “Harry asked me to meet him there.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t really ask. I was a dog.”

“He asked you at the Task? Why not put it in a letter?”

Sirius frowned. “He said he had to talk to me about something and he didn’t want to put it in a letter, in case it got read by someone else, so I should meet him in Hogsmeade on the next student trip.”

Remus didn’t relish the idea of going to Hogsmeade while it was crowded with Hogwarts Students. “Who’s reading your mail?”

“Well, I assume Harry didn’t mean you.”

So they were back to Sirius being unable to address Regulus directly. How unfortunate. But if Regulus really was reading Sirius’s mail, maybe there was cause to be suspicious. And if Regulus was reading Sirius’s mail, how would Harry know?

Remus, though he knew that practically it was a bad idea for him to go to Hogsmeade, though he knew he shouldn’t be around the Hogwarts students, though he knew that they really ought to leave Harry to solve his own problems--barring the Triwizard Tournament, which it sounded like this had nothing to do with--Remus put his hand out for Sirius to Side-Along the two of them to James and Lily’s cottage in Hogsmeade, because, unfortunately, his curiosity outweighed everything he knew he should and shouldn’t do.

There was a sharp crack, and they were inside the familiar cottage that Remus had spent full moons in last year, the cottage James and Lily still hadn’t bothered to sell. Remus wondered briefly if he and Sirius ought to at least dust it before they went back to Grimmauld Place.

“When are you going to start using your wand yourself?” Sirius asked,

Remus didn’t answer. His new wand was fine. He used it for small tasks, like heating water or for making his bed in the morning. But he still wasn’t comfortable with it for more complicated spells, like Apparating or Duplication. Ollivander had told him he would have to grow into it, that it would take practice for him and his wand to become friends, but Remus stubbornly didn’t want to. He loved his old wand, and even if he couldn’t have it, he’d refuse any substitute, no matter the possibilities it offered.

He watched Sirius open up the windows of the cottage. Fresh sunlight and air changed the atmosphere almost immediately. Yes, Remus would at least use a Dusting Charm before they left.

“We’re meeting Harry at the Three Broomsticks,” Sirius said. “Fancy a Butterbeer?”

“Perhaps something stronger,” Remus said. He also thought he might enjoy a nostalgic trip to Zonko’s. It was getting close to James’s birthday. They ought to look for something.

Together they walked down to the Three Broomsticks. Hogsmeade was filled with children, some in Hogwarts uniforms, some not. Remus, not for the first time in his life, was grateful that most people overlooked him next to Sirius Black. They were both tall, but Sirius carried himself in a way that drew attention to him. Remus did not, and it was intentional.

Still, there were a few students that called, “Professor Lupin!” and he waved politely back. He noticed a few students were wearing badges but he couldn’t read them. He wondered if he should look into getting glasses. He’d never hear the end of it from Sirius if he did. Surely he couldn’t be that old yet.

Sirius held the door open for him when they reached the Three Broomsticks. Rosmerta waved at them as they entered, and then recognition flitted into her face. “Hello, you two. Been a while.”

Sirius grinned at her. “Did you miss us?”

“Of course I did. Have a seat. Butterbeers around?”

“Something stronger for Remus here,” Sirius said.

Madam Rosmerta gave Remus a quick once over, and if she thought anything of the rumors she may have heard from students and their parents of Remus’s blood, there was no sign in her expression. She nodded once and said, “I have just the thing.” She wiped a table down and pulled chairs out for them.

“We’ll need another,” Sirius said.

“Three more,” Remus said, guess Hermione and Ron would be joining them.

Madam Rosmerta levitated three chairs to their table then left to get them drinks.

“Hasn’t changed since we were kids, has it?” Sirius said as he looked around the pub.

“Not really,” Remus agreed.

Sirius liked places like that. He liked the feeling of permanence these sorts of places had. Remus understood that, but he was also, in many ways, terrified of permanence. Nothing stayed for him. He couldn’t keep a job, couldn’t keep a home, couldn’t keep a wand….

The door swung open and Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked in. Sirius waved at them, and they came in and sat down.

“How are you?” Remus asked. “I saw that article in Witch Weekly….”

Hermione only snorted. “Rita Skeeter’s going to have to do better than that.”

That made Remus feel better. Harry didn’t look so confident, but he also didn’t volunteer any information, so maybe he didn’t want to say anything in front of Ron and Hermione.

Sirius either understood or didn’t notice. “You’re suspicious of Regulus, right?” he asked, diving right into the issue. “What’s it about?”

Madam Rosmerta brought Sirius and Remus their drinks, then disappeared for more butterbeers for Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

“Er,” Harry said, “I saw him on the map. At school.”

Sirius frowned and rubbed a hand over his jaw. It seemed Regulus’s claims that he was visiting the Black country estate were not as true as everyone had hoped.

Sirius had voiced his concerns about Regulus to Remus shortly before the Quidditch World Cup. Sirius didn’t think Regulus was being entirely honest about his conversations with Dumbledore and where he was going when he left Grimmauld Place. Remus had assured Sirius it was probably nothing. Dumbledore trusted Regulus, and so should they. Sirius was only partially convinced.

“Do you know why he would have been at Hogwarts?” Remus asked. This was directed at both Harry and Sirius.

“I was hoping you might know,” Harry said. “He was in Snape’s office. They were friends at school, right?”

“Something like that,” Sirius said. “I don’t think Regulus ever liked Snape much. But they were in Slytherin together, they had the same friends.”

Remus took a sip of his drink. It was surprisingly strong, but there was a minty taste to it on top of the burning alcohol taste. It wasn’t bad, though he couldn’t say he’d had something that strong in a while.

Madam Rosmerta brought butterbeers for Ron, Harry, and Hermione. She asked if they needed anything else and they politely told her they were doing just fine. Remus wondered if they should move the conversation to somewhere less public, since they were talking about wanted criminal Regulus Black. A few people were staring, but maybe that had more to do with the fact of Harry Potter and less to do with their whispered conversation.

“I think Regulus thinks Snape put my name in the Goblet of Fire,” Harry said.

Sirius snorted and Remus shook his head.

Ron leaned forward and said, “No, it makes sense, right? Snape hates Harry.”

“Professor Snape,” Remus said, “would not try to kill Harry.” As much as Snape hated James and clearly disliked Harry, Snape wouldn’t murder a student. “You don’t have to like Snape, but Dumbledore trusts him. He wouldn’t be a teacher at Hogwarts if he tried to kill his students.”

“That’s what I said,” Hermione said.

“But Moody said he searched Snape’s office,” Harry said.

“Moody probably searched every office,” Sirius said. “He’s that kind of Auror. We don’t know who put your name in, but there’s no way it was Snape.”

“Snape showed Dumbledore something on his arm,” Harry pressed. “He said ‘It’s growing darker,’ and he told Dumbledore that Voldemort was coming back. How would he know?”

“If he was on You-Know-Who’s side, why would he tell Dumbledore?” Sirius said. “No, I may not like Severus much, but I don’t think he’s the one who put your name in the goblet.”

“I don’t think Regulus did either,” Remus said. 

Harry still did not look convinced.

“How did you know Regulus was reading my letters?” Sirius asked.

“Er… Regulus told me, back in November. He said you guys,” he gestured to both Remus and Sirius, “were worried about something but weren’t telling him what, so he read your letters. Said he did it all the time when you guys were younger. And he wanted to talk to me, see if he could try to figure out who might have put my name in.”

“Did he?” asked Remus.

“No. He seemed to think it might be Snape. He asked if anyone seemed excited I was in the tournament, but I don’t know. Only Ludo Bagman seems to have any interest in me being in the tournament. He’s always offering to help. I don’t know why.”

Sirius shook his head. “Bagman’s known for gambling. I’d bet he’s hoping you’ll win. As the underdog, he’d make a nice betting off you. Not that that’s legal in any way, especially since he’s judging.”

Harry shrugged. “He also said to keep an eye on the headmaster of Durmstrang. Said the last one would have been his first suspect.”

“Igor Karkaroff?” Remus asked.

“Yeah, his name is really familiar, though I can’t think why.”

“The only other person,” said Hermione, “who would have access to the cup besides professors and students, would have been Mr. Crouch.”

“As much as I hate him,” Sirius said through gritted teeth, “I doubt he would have done this to Harry.”

“That’s what Regulus said, too.” Harry sighed.

Remus took another sip of his tea. So they were back to square one, except with more questions about what on earth Regulus Black could be up to.

“Maybe just write to your parents for now,” Sirius said. “We can tell Regulus what he needs to know, but….”

Remus agreed. Until they understood what Regulus was up to, they ought to keep as much from him as possible. He wanted nothing more than to trust Regulus, but if Regulus was going to be secretive to the point of skulking around Hogwarts, they didn’t have much choice.

“Does Dumbledore know?” asked Remus.

“Professor Moody knew, and he’d tell Dumbledore, right?”

“Yes.” Remus finished his drink. “We’ll have to keep an eye on him.” He didn’t relish the idea of trying to keep a watch on Regulus who was already reclusive as it was. Remus didn’t like intruding on someone else’s personal space, but he’d do it to protect Harry.

Remus asked Harry, Ron, and Hermione how their classes were going. They had nothing to complain about, except Potions and Divination, but that was normal for Harry and Ron. Hermione asked him and Sirius about how Rita Skeeter might be getting information and listening in on private conversations, but Remus didn’t have any ideas. Hogwarts was impervious to most charms designed for long-distance spying.

Sirius seemed unusual reticent, and offered only a few shrugs. He drank maybe half of his butterbeer during the few hours they all sat and chatted.

Finally, Rosmerta kicked out her Hogwarts students, and Remus saw no need for him and Sirius to stay any longer. They all said their goodbyes, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed back to the school while Sirius and Remus walked back to James and Lily’s cottage.

“Sirius….” Remus began slowly, not entirely sure how to say what he felt needed to be said.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Regulus may have a perfectly good reason for his actions. I’m not saying we shouldn’t be careful, but maybe we shouldn’t jump to conclusions so quickly.”

“I can’t imagine any conclusions to jump to other than he’s doing something he shouldn’t be doing.”

“I know you’re hurt….”

“You don’t know,” Sirius said. “I trusted Regulus last year, when he told me he’d left Voldemort, he’d been in hiding, he wanted out. I believed him, and now he’s run off doing Godric knows what behind our backs--” Sirius shouldered open the door of Lily and James’s cottage with more force than necessary. The door slammed all the way against the wall, leaving a sizable crack.

“Sirius,” Remus said, as harshly as he dared. “I do know. I know because when Voldemort attacked James and Lily, I thought the worst of you. And that was wrong. Don’t make this same mistake with your brother.”

Sirius took a deep breath. He stared at the fireplace for a long moment, long enough for Remus to wonder if Sirius was thinking about how he’d treated Remus during the war, and the mistrust that had grown between them long before James and Lily had been attacked.

“We can be cautious, but I… I only worry about you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I don’t want you to be… to be that person you were before. That’s all.”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay. I don’t want to be him either. I’ll go ahead and dust this place up while you fix the crack in the wall?”

Remus felt like he’d just skirted the edge of a thunderstorm and been lucky to be unscathed. “Sure. That sounds like a good plan.”

Remus pulled his wand out of robes and pointed it at the crack behind the door. It didn’t look as bad as it had sounded. Remus said the Repair Charm as clearly as he could, with the neatest motion he could manage, His wand and the wall glowed golden for a brief moment, then everything was once again as it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, headcanons, questions, always appreciated.


	28. The Madness of Mr. Crouch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns about the third task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Harry Potter World was so much fun! Very small. We don't have a Diagon Alley in LA, but that's alright. Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey was amazing. I tried to buy James and Lily's wand but they have everyone except James and Lily??? I nearly bought Cedric's, because it's almost identical to James, but decided not to in the end. Had a wonderful time, and I can't wait to go again. I'm going to try to visit it for Christmas. If you ever get the chance to go (LA, Orlando, or Osaka!) I highly recommend it. It's like walking into Hogwarts and I literally never wanted to leave. Oh! And we got Butterbeer and we mixed it with real beer and it was so good. Pumpkin juice was way too sweet for me. Not a sugar fan.
> 
> 2) Things are finally getting intense in the AU. Stuff is happening. Finally.
> 
> 3) I forgot to ask last week: What did everyone think of Cursed Child?

Harry had hoped talking to Remus and Sirius might provide answers, or at least some sort of comfort, but Harry felt like he came away from Hogsmeade with more questions and more concern. They still had no idea who had put his name in the Goblet of Fire, nor what Regulus was really up to. Sirius had a point that whatever Regulus was doing had to be shady, or he would have told them what it was.

Harry wanted to thank Dobby and Mellie for their help with the second task, so before heading back to Hogwarts, Harry bought pairs of socks for Dobby--one flashy gold and silver, the other a set that screamed when they were too dirty. For Mellie, Harry was at a bit of a loss. What did you buy a crabby old house-elf who sat in bed all day?

“She might like books,” Hermione said.

“I don’t think house-elves can read,” Ron said.

Before Hermione could turn that new bit of information into a campaign slogan for S.P.E.W., Harry said, “Do you think she’d like to learn how to knit? Maybe that would help her feel useful.”

Harry bought yarn and needles for Mellie, and, because it felt strange to give Mellie a gift without getting anything for Picksie, Harry bought a nose-biting teacup. It seemed appropriate for a house-elf that seemed a little sweet on Sirius.

The final purchase of Harry’s trip to Hogsmeade was one last gift: Remus’s birthday present, a box of assorted sweets and a new tea set, one that did not bite noses. He’d been meaning to get Remus a tea set for a while now, and he was glad he finally had the means and opportunity.

James’s birthday was only two weeks after Remus’s, but Harry had already taken care of that present weeks ago. He’d bought two fake wands from Fred and George, and he only had to mail them to his mother and ask her to leave them around the house. Harry couldn’t be there for his parents birthday, but he could still play a joke on his father in good spirit.

He sent the wands off a week before his father’s birthday, and he got a gleeful thank you letter in response.

_Dear Harry,_

_I never saw it coming! I blamed Sirius for the longest time, and he insisted it wasn’t him. I didn’t believe him until I saw your mother cracking up. She said it was you, and she showed me your letter. Bloody brilliant. You better be ready for your birthday this year._

_Love,  
Dad_

Apparently Harry’s mother enjoyed the gift just as much, because Harry heard from Fred and George that Lily had bought a set of seven fake wands. Harry hoped she didn’t use all of them before the end of the school year. He’d like to be around to see his dad try to cast a spell and have his wand turn into a rubber chicken.

Harry’s other gifts were equally well-received. Remus wrote a polite thank you letter; Dobby cried tears of joy over the socks; Picksie giggled at the teacup; Mellie grunted and told Harry she didn’t need knitting in her life, and Dobby was not going to waste his time teaching her. Despite her protests, two days later, Harry found a nicely knit coaster under the water glass by his bed.

All the gifts and birthdays made Harry wonder just when Regulus’s birthday was. Regulus had been living at Grimmauld Place for nearly a year now, and no one had ever mentioned it. Harry, as suspicious as he was of Regulus, still thought birthdays an important thing to be noted. So he wrote a brief letter to Regulus.

_Dear Mr. Black,_

_When is your birthday?_

_Sincerely,  
Harry_

The reply was nearly as brief:

_Dear Harry,_

_My birthday is August 17th. So Sirius can’t say my mother never gave him anything, when he clearly got his penchant for awful puns from her._

_Sincerely,  
Regulus Arcturus Black_

_P.S. When do you find out about the third task?_

Harry didn’t write back. Partially because of Sirius and Remus’s warnings, but also because he had quite a bit of other things to work on. On top of all of his school work, Harry, Ron and Hermione had a new problem--or, really, an old problem presenting itself anew--Rita Skeeter.

Though Hermione had not initially found the article about her fantastical love triangle with Krum and Harry worthy of any note, she was certainly sore about it now, both literally and figuratively. Beginning the Monday after the article appeared, hermione received owls delivering letters full of hate, howlers, and even toxic potions. One of the letters had been full of bubotuber pus, and she’d been forced to miss class so Madam Pomfrey could reduce the swelling in her hands.

Ever since, she’d been on the warpath, determined to uncover something that could turn the tables on Rita Skeeter.

“It’ll blow over, Hermione,” Harry tried to tell her over lunch. He’d had enough rumors spread about him the last four years to know people eventually got tired of talking about the same old stuff.

“It’s not even that,” Hermione said. “I want to know how she’s been listening in on private conversations. How’d she know that Viktor asked me to visit him this summer?”

“Viktor asked you to visit him over the summer?” Ron said. “What’d you tell him?”

Hermione ignored him. “She couldn’t have heard that unless she was there, but she’s not allowed on the grounds.”

“Maybe she’s bugged the school,” Harry suggested.

Ron’s face went pale. “Bugged?”

“Yeah, like in James Bond films,” Harry said. “Muggles use it to spy on people, listen in on other conversations.”

“That won’t work at Hogwarts,” Hermione insisted. “Will you two ever read _Hogwarts: A History_?”

“Not as long as you’re around to tell us what it says,” said Ron.

“Electrical things don’t work at Hogwarts. The magic messes them up. Remember the two-way radio in Professor Lupin’s office last year?”

“Oh, yeah. Ginny said one day it went off in their class. Made a lot of high-pitched screaming and crackling noises, wouldn’t stop even when Lupin cast a silencing spell on it. He had to smash it with a parchment weight.”

“And that’s why Rita Skeeter definitely isn’t using Muggle technology.” Hermione bit down on her thumb. “She must be using something magical--oh, if it’s illegal, I’ll have her.”

Hermione spent every spare minute researching magical methods of eavesdropping. She didn’t get into a single fight with Ron about S.P.E.W. over the Easter holidays. Harry helped her when he could, but he was drowning in his own school work. He didn’t know what he would have done if he’d had Quidditch practice on top of everything else. He hadn’t even learned what he’d need to prepare for the final task yet, and he didn’t know where he was going to fit in practicing for that.

It was another month before he even found out what the task was. The first Thursday of May, Professor McGonagall called him to her desk after class.

While the other students filed out, Harry approached the front of the class, hoping he wasn’t in trouble for anything.

“Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch will be at the Quidditch Pitch this evening at nine o’clock. You’re to meet them there to receive the news about the third task.”

Harry felt a wave of relief. If the final task had anything to do with Quidditch, he’d ace it without a problem. He was so close to surviving this thing and maybe he really could win it. Ron and Hagrid had been saying he was sure to win. Now he started to believe they might be right.

At half-past eight, Harry walked down to the entrance hall. He arrived at the same time as Cedric, who was coming up from the Hufflepuff common room. Cedric smiled and waved at him. Harry waved back, but couldn’t find it in him to smile. He was still bitter about the vague bath clue--though he had figured it out eventually--and irritated that Cedric and Cho were still dating, though the Yule Ball had been months ago.

“Last task,” Cedric said. “Fairly exciting, isn’t it? And the two of us in the lead.” He seemed to be bouncing as they walked out onto the grounds. “What d’you reckon it’s going to be?”

Harry didn’t have a clue, but as they walked towards the Quidditch pitch, Harry realized how much he missed taking this path every night to practice. He was suddenly eager for the Triwizard Tournament to be over and the new Hogwarts Quidditch season to begin. He’d happily skip over the summer if it meant practicing with his team again.

“I won’t complain if it’s a free-for-all Quidditch Match,” Harry said.

Cedric laughed. “Fleur would be at a bit of a disadvantage. I don’t think she plays. Then again, I don’t play the way you and Krum do.”

Harry’s ears grew warm with the compliment. “Maybe she’s a really good Chaser and she’d blow all us Seekers away.”

Cedric laughed again and clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry suddenly felt a little less bitter.

Cedric’s laughter stopped abruptly when he saw the Quidditch pitch. “What have they done to it?” There seemed to be genuine anger in his voice as he looked at all the green shrubs scattered across the field.

Harry looked at the hedges in shock, too. This was their Quidditch pitch. How were they supposed to play Quidditch with all these bushes on the field?

“Hello!” Bagman’s voice shouted at them. He stood in the middle of the field with Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour. “Join us!” He motioned the boys closer.

Harry and Cedric picked their way around the bushes until they reached the center of the pitch.

“What do you think?” Bagman asked. He looked around at the field. “The hedges are growing nicely, aren’t they? Give them a month and Hagrid will have them twenty feet high.” He looked at Harry and Cedric’s pained faces and laughed. “Not to worry, boys! You’ll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over!” Bagman looked around the field, his cheer colored by the smallest ounce of concern. It was brief, and he beamed at the champions once again. “Well, can’t say where Barty’s wandered off to. Said he’d be here.” He checked his wristwatch. “Might as well get started. Now, I imagine you can guess what we’re making here.”

Harry didn’t want to guess. He was still shocked, and now disappointed that the last task wasn’t Quidditch related after all.

“Maze,” Krum said.

“Yes!” Bagman said. “A maze! The third tasks really straightforward. The rules are simple, really. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to find the cup and touch it will receive full marks.”

“We seemply ‘ave to get through the maze?” Fleur asked.

“There will be obstacles of course,” Bagman cut in, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Hagrid is providing a number of creatures. Then there will be spells that must be broken, all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions who are leading in points will get a head start into the maze. Then Krum will enter, then Miss Delacour. But you’ll all be in with a fighting chance, depending on how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?”

Harry glanced at the other champions. None of them seemed to think “fun” was the right word either. But they all nodded politely.

“Any questions? No? Perhaps we’ll go back to the castle, then. Bit chilly, isn’t it? Maybe Barty didn’t feel like coming out in the cold,” Bagman laughed.

Harry didn’t think Mr. Crouch was the sort to let the cold stop him from his work, but he didn’t argue. Mr. Bagman led the way, but before Harry could follow, Krum tapped him on the shoulder.

“Could I haff a word with you?”

Harry was surprised. He couldn’t imagine what Krum could want to talk to him about. “Er--sure.”

“Valk vith me.”

Cedric turned back and looked at Harry questioningly, but Harry waved him on. Harry and Krum stepped off the path and walked along the treeline of the Forbidden Forest.

“Why out here?” Harry asked as he and Krum walked further from the path, down towards Hagrid’s hut.

“Don’t vant to be overheard.”

They eventually passed Hagrid’s hut and reached the paddock, where Beauxbaton’s enormous horses were stabled. Krum checked nearby for anyone, but he didn’t find anything. Harry didn’t see anyone either.

“I vant to know,” Krum said, finally satisfied no one was eavesdropping, “vut there is between you and Hermy-own-ninny.”

Harry had expected something much more serious than a question about whether or not he liked Hermione. Like maybe Krum would ask him to team up against Cedric in the maze, or he would tell Harry to throw the match for some of the reward. Or maybe even something about Voldemort. Not a question about who he liked.

“Nothing,” Harry said as soon as his wits were recovered. “Honest.” He looked up at Krum and wondered when his own growth spurt would kick in. Both his parents were tall, so why did he feel so short next to Krum? “We’re just friends. She’s not my girlfriend and she never has been. It’s just that Rita Skeeter woman making things up.”

“Herm-own-ninny talks about you very often.”

“Yeah, because we’re friends.”

“You haff never.... you haff not….”

“No.” Harry tried to imagine what world Krum lived in, where Krum considered him an equal in love. Him, who couldn’t talk to the girl he did like, who had been a notoriously terrible date at the Yule Ball. Krum was seventeen, and a Quidditch superstar. Harry was fourteen and liked by half his own house on his best days and hated by everyone on his worst, including his best friend. And Krum thought of him as a rival for Hermione’s affection? 

“Just friends, I promise.”

Krum seemed to relax. Harry might not have used to word happy, but close to it. 

“You fly very vell. I vos vatching at the first task.”

“Thanks. You’re really good too. I saw you at the Quidditch World Cup. You don’t think you could teach me that--” Harry stopped. Something was moving in the trees behind Krum. There were any number of things in the Forbidden Forest that could be considered deadly. Harry had run into a cluster of Acromantula once. He was not interested in a repeat encounter. Harry grabbed Krum’s arm and pulled him out of the tree line.

“Vot is it?”

“I saw something,” Harry whispered,” and reached into his robes for his wand.

Krum did the same, but it wasn’t an Acromantula that stumbled out of the woods, or any sort of Monster. It was Mr. Crouch.

He was ragged, exhausted, cheeks sunken in, like he hadn’t eaten in days. His robes were torn and his hair was badly in need of a wash and trim. He didn’t appear to be in his right mind. He was muttering to himself, a little like Mellie, but at least she would clearly tell a story or talk to herself. Crouch seemed to be addressing the oak trees as people.

“... and when you’ve done that, Weatherby, send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up the number of students she’s bringing, now that Durmstrang has made it a round dozen. Do that, Weatherby, will you?”

“Isn’t that the judge?” Krum said. “He is vith your Ministry?”

“That’s… it looks like Mr. Crouch.” Harry stepped forward and kept his hand on his wand. “Mr. Crouch,” he said, a little louder, “are you alright?”

Mr. Crouch turned, but didn’t seem to see Harry. He staggered, then his knees buckled and he fell. Harry lurched forward to catch him. Mr. Crouch smelled like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. Harry remembered a time a family of vagabonds had gotten lost in the Cotswolds before finding their way to Styncon Garden. Lily and James had put out a full garden picnic for them. Harry had been small enough to play with the children without questioning it or knowing who they were, but he did remember how badly they’d smelled.

Crouch suddenly gasped and gripped the front of Harry’s robes. “Dumbledore,” he said. “I need to see Dumbledore.” He didn’t seem to be talking to Harry, but rather looking past him.

“You’re at Hogwarts,” Harry said. “I’ll take you to Dumbledore.” Harry helped Crouch stand.

“Must tell… Dumbledore. Voldemort…”

“What about Voldemort?”

“Yes, thank you, weatherby,” Crouch said to the tree again. “And when you’ve done that, I would like a cup of tea. My wife and son will be arriving shortly, we are attending a concert tonight with Mr. and Mrs. Fudge.”

“What are you saying about Voldemort?” Harry asked desperately. “Mr. Crouch, what’s happening?”

“Voldemort… tell Dumbledore….” Mr. Crouch suddenly seemed to see Harry. He grabbed the front of Harry’s robes. “You--you’re not his-” His eyes slid over to Krum.

“No,” Harry said. “No we’re not his.”

“Dumbledore….”

“Yes, Dumbledore.”

Harry looked up at Krum. “I know where Dumbledore’s office is. I can get him, if you stay here with Mr. Crouch. 

Krum did not look so sure. “He’s gone mad.”

“He said something about Voldemort. Just wait with him while I get Dumbledore.”

Harry stood up to leave, but Crouch grabbed his robes.

“Don’t… leave… me my fault,” he whispered. “Dumbledore… my son… my fault. If I had… only… Voldemort… stronger....”

“I’ll get Dumbledore,” Harry promised. “Just let me go. Krum, stay with him, please.”

Krum still looked apprehensive. “Hurry, von’t you?” he said, and Harry ran back towards the castle. He ran straight through the deserted entrance hall and up the stairs to Dumbledore’s office on the second floor. He found the familiar stone gargoyle halfway down the corridor. “Lemon drop,” he said, out of breath. But the gargoyle didn’t move. Dumbledore had changed the password since the last time Harry had been here, sensibly, since that was two years ago, but Harry was frustrated. He needed Dumbledore now.

“Move!” he shouted at the gargoyle. “Please! It’s important!”

But it didn’t budge. Maybe Dumbledore wasn’t there. Maybe he was somewhere else in the castle--he could be anywhere else in the castle. He could run and check the Marauders Map, but it was tucked under Harry’s pillow, all the way in Gryffindor tower. it would take too long.

Harry was about to run for the staff room, thinking McGonagall might know where to find Dumbledore quickly, when the gargoyle began to turn and the staircase to Dumbledore’s office was revealed. Before Harry could dash up it, Snape stepped off the stairs.

“What are you doing here, Potter?”

“I need to see Professor Dumbledore! Mr. Crouch, he’s in the forest, he’s asking--”

“What’s this rubbish? What are you talking about?”

Harry tried to get around Snape. He did not have time for this. “Mr. Crouch! From the Ministry! He’s ill or something--he’s in the forest, he wants to see Dumbledore. Just let me pass!”

“I’m afraid the Headmaster is very busy.”

“I’ve got to tell Dumbledore--”

There were footsteps behind Snape and Dumbledore suddenly came down the stairs. He adjusted his spectacles and looked between Harry and Snape. “Ah, I thought I heard raised voices. Is there a problem?” He did not seem terribly concerned, and Harry didn’t know how to communicate the urgency of the situation.

Before Snape could say anything, Harry said, “Mr. Crouch is here! In the forest--”

“Yes, did he tell you about the third task?”

“No, Professor--he’s not well--he’s asking for you.”

Dumbledore motioned for Harry to lead the way. As they walked he said, “What did Mr. Crouch say he wanted to speak with me about?”

“He said he wants to warn you. He said he’s done something terrible, and he mentioned his son. And Voldemort--he said something about Voldemort getting stronger.”

Dumbledore’s steps quickened. “Indeed.” They hurried out of the castle, Snape on their heels.

“He’s not acting normally,” Harry said as he led Dumbledore towards where he had left Viktor Krum. “He doesn’t seem to know where he is. He keeps talking like he thinks Percy Weasley’s there, and then he changes, and says he needs to see you. I left him with Viktor Krum.”

Dumbledore’s pace was now so quick that Harry had to jog to keep up. “Did anyone else see Mr. Crouch.”

“No, Krum and I were just talking after Bagman told us about the third task. Crouch was supposed to be there, but he never came. When we were talking he just appeared out of the forest--Over here--”

But when he pointed to where he had left Krum and Crouch, there was no one. Harry circled the paddock and checked along the edge of the forest.

“They were here,” Harry said. “Krum! Viktor Krum!” he shouted at the trees, but there was no answer.

“ _Lumos_ ,” Dumbledore said and raised his wand. The spell cast an eerie white glow around the forest. In its light, Harry saw a pair of heavy boots on the ground. Viktor Krum was sprawled, unconscious. Crouch was nowhere to be seen.

“Should I get Madam Pomfrey?” Harry asked as Dumbledore examined Krum.

“No, stay here.” Dumbledore pointed his wand in the direction of Hagrid’s cabin. A silver streak darted through the woods. Harry remembered seeing a patronus that had been intended to leave a message once, though it hadn’t worked properly. He wondered briefly what form Dumbledore’s patronus took, but he was quickly distracted by the situation at hand.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, and Harry startled, having forgotten Snape was still with them, “Get Alastor, quickly.”

Snape hurried off to the castle without protest. Dumbledore put his wand to Krum’s chest and said, “ _Enneverate_.”

Krum opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but Dumbledore made him lie still.

“Viktor, can you tell me what happened?”

“He attacked me,” Krum said. “The old madman attacked me! I vos looking around to see vare Potter had gone and he attacked me from behind.”

“Just lie still for a moment,” Dumbledore told him. “You’ve only been Stunned, but it’s best not to move too much.”

Harry jumped as heavy stomping noises approached them through the trees, but it was only Hagrid, with a crossbow in his hand and Fang on his heels.

“Professor Dumbledore! Harry! What is--”

“Hagrid,” Dumbledore interrupted, “please fetch Safer. His student has been attacked.”

“What happened? Yeh alright, Professor? Harry?”

“Hagrid, Safer, quickly please.”

“Oh--yes, Professor.” Hagrid thundered off through the woods, towards the Black Lake.

Harry raised his own wand light, but he saw no sign of Mr. Crouch. “I know Mr. Crouch was here,” Harry said.

“Who else vould haff attacked me?” Krum grumbled. “Of course he vas here.”

“Dumbledore!” Professor Moody limped up to them, Snape just behind him. “What’s happened? Snape said something about Crouch--”

“I don’t know where Barty Crouch is,” Dumbledore said, “but it’s imperative we find him.”

“I’m onto it,” Moody said, and with his wand out, he ventured into the forest.

Hagrid returned with Safer, who immediately knelt at Krum’s side and helped him sit up. “Viktor! What has happened? Dumbledore, I demand--”

“Mr. Crouch attacked me,” Krum said quickly.

“Crouch?” Safer asked, eyes wide. “The judge from the Ministry?”

“Safer,” Dumbledore interrupted. “We do not know what has happened. Barty Crouch has gone missing and someone attacked your student. If you would like to escort him to the hospital wing, Severus can show you--”

Safer helped Viktor Krum to his feet. “Professor Dumbledore, I have been patient with you and your Ministry. You have promised us many things to convince us to enter this tournament, despite our struggles at home without our Headmaster. You have broken many of those promises. I will tend to Viktor in our ship, and the moment this task is completed, we will be returning to Durmstrang. I do not think our schools will be cooperating in the future.”

Safer took Viktor Krum and led him along the edge of the forest.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, “you’ll need to speak to him.”

“And say what?”

Harry looked at Snape, who was staring coldly at Dumbledore.

“Whatever you have to say,” Dumbledore said. He sounded strangely weary to Harry. “Go.”

Snape glared a moment longer before turning to follow Safer.

“Hagrid,” Dumbledore said, “please take Harry back to the castle.”

“I know the way, Professor,” Harry said.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, and Harry suddenly felt like there was a gravity to this situation he did not quite grasp. He wondered if Voldemort had been the one who attacked Krum and Crouch, but surely Voldemort was not strong enough for that, and if he was, surely he would have done something more drastic.

“I’ll leave Fang with yeh, Headmaster,” Hagrid said.

“And Harry,” Dumbledore said as they began to walk away, “any letters you might want to send tonight, they can wait until morning. And I would advise you to be… discreet about who you write to.”

Harry understood: Don’t tell Regulus Black. He wondered why, but he didn’t ask. He only nodded. “Yes, Professor.” 

He followed Hagrid back up to the castle, mind whirring with questions. It seemed like this entire year was a sea of endless questions and no answers. Not even Dumbledore seemed to know what was happening. That was a scary thought.

“Yeh alright, Harry?” Hagrid asked again.

“Yes, I’m fine, really. I just want to know what happened.”

“Dun worry abou’ it too much. You’ve got a task to prepare for. Dumbledore an’ Moody’ll take care of it. Dun you worry abou’ it.”

“Sure. Thanks, Hagrid.” But Harry knew he would worry about it. He left Hagrid at the entrance hall and went upstairs to Gryffindor tower. Ron and Hermione were still up, waiting for him, and before they could even ask, he told them everything that had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heacanons, comments, questions, etc, always appreciated!


	29. The Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry falls asleep in Divination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an on-time chapter, with a minute to spare! It feels good to be back on track again. Things are getting dark; answers are coming.

Harry sent a letter to his parents, telling them what had happened, first thing Friday morning. Hermione and Ron went up to the owlry with him.

“You don’t think Mr. Crouch really stunned Viktor,” Hermione said.

“Who else could have done it?” Ron asked.

“No, Crouch was really weak. I don’t think he could have stunned Krum,” said Harry. 

“But who else could have been there?” Ron pressed.

Harry had no idea. He’d checked the map as soon as he got back to Gryffindor tower, but there’d been nothing on it. He’d been too late. If someone had attacked Krum and spirited away Crouch, they were long gone.

“If Snape hadn’t held me up, maybe we could have gotten there in time,” Harry said as he tied the letter to Hedwig’s leg. She nipped his finger affectionately before going out the window.

“--that’s blackmail,” a voice from the stairs said, “we could get into a lot of trouble for that--”

“We’ve tried being polite,” a similar voice replied. “It’s time to play dirty, like him. He wouldn’t like the Ministry of Magic knowing what he did--”

“I’m telling you, if you put that in writing, it’s blackmail!”

“Yeah, and you won’t be complaining if we get a nice fat payoff, will you?”

Fred and George’s red hair was the first thing visible as they came up the stairs, then all of them in their mother’s lettered Christmas presents.

“What are you doing here?” Fred and Ron asked at the same time.

“Sending a letter,” Harry and George said at once.

“What, at this time?” Hermione and Fred asked.

Fred shrugged his shoulders. “Fine. We won’t ask you what you’re doing if you don’t ask us.” He turned the envelope in his hand to hide the addressee. “Don’t let us hold you up.”

He and George approached a small brown owl and began to tie the letter to her leg.

“Who are you blackmailing?” Ron asked.

“Don’t be stupid,” George said, “I was only joking.”

“Didn’t sound like it,” Ron said.

“You’re starting to sound a bit like our dear older brother, you are,” Fred said with a snort. The owl flew off with their letter. “Carry on like this and you’ll be made a prefect.”

Ron scowled and folded his arms over his chest. “No, I won’t.”

“Then stop telling us what to do,” said George. “See you later.” The twins waved at the trio and disappeared back downstairs.

“They wouldn’t really--” Hermione tried, but she seemed to lose her motivation to finish. “It can’t be about Mr. Crouch, can it?”

“How?” Harry asked. “Mr. Crouch was fine until yesterday. No one knew what was wrong with him. C’mon, let’s see if there’s anything about him in the Daily Prophet.”

They went downstairs to breakfast, but the Daily Prophet said nothing of Mr. Crouch’s disappearance. Hermione set the paper down with a sigh. “Rita Skeeter probably hasn’t gotten wind of it yet. ‘More Ministry Mistakes,’ is just the sort of headline she’d run with.” 

Ron took a bite of his breakfast. “Is it good or bad that she doesn’t know?”

“Bad if the Ministry’s trying to keep it hushed up,” Harry said. 

“We could ask Professor Moody if he found anything,” Hermione said. She checked Ron’s wrist watch. “But after Potions. We can’t be late.”

Harry wished they could ditch Potions to meet Professor Moody--surely Moody would make an excuse for them--but it would take a lot to convince Hermione to miss a class, even Potions with Snape, so they finished off their plates and headed to the dungeons.

Potions was uneventful, but that only made it go by slower. Harry kept checking Ron’s wristwatch--his hadn’t worked properly since the second task; it hadn’t occurred to him that water might ruin it--but the seconds dragged on slowly.

When the bell rang, they hastily cleaned their work stations and rushed to Professor Moody’s office, skipping lunch altogether. They found him just locking his office up as a collection of first year Ravenclaw students slipped past Harry, Ron, and Hermione towards the Great Hall.

“Professor Moody!” Harry said.

Moody stopped and looked the three of them over with both magical and non-magical eye. “Potter. Granger. Weasley.”

“Professor,” Hermione said, “we were wondering if you could tell us if you found anything in the forest.”

His regular eye lingered on Harry while the magical eye did circles in its socket. “Hmmm… You lot better come on in.” He reopened his office, all seven locks, and let them inside.

Hermione and Ron looked around in awe at all the Dark Detectors. Harry, who had seen them before, quickly asked, “Did you find Mr. Crouch? We didn’t see anything in the paper this morning.”

“No, you wouldn’t have, would you?” Moody growled and sat down in the chair behind his desk. “Ministry wants it quiet. Who knows how long they can keep it quiet, but two Ministry officials dead in less than a few months? Not good news at all.”

“Dead?” Hermione said. “So you did find him?”

Moody scratched his chin. “No, didn’t find anything in the forest. Whoever attacked Krum was long gone by the time we arrived. But I don’t think it was any wandering fairy that found Crouch and took him off for tea cakes.”

Hermione bit down on her lip. She looked a bit flushed. Harry didn’t know if it was fear or embarrassment.

“Dumbledore tells me the three of you fancy yourselves detectives. So tell me, did you find three anything?” Though he seemed focused on Harry as he asked this, so Harry answered.

“No, Professor. I checked the map as soon as I got back to the castle, but I didn’t find anything.”

Moody shook his head. “Got to be quicker than that, Potter, if you ever want to be an Auror.”

“An Auror?”

“Surely you know a faster way to get to the map than running all the way back to your dormitory.”

“The Summoning Charm…. You think I could’ve found Crouch and the person who attacked him in time if I’d summoned the map?”

Moody shrugged. “You might’ve. Or you might’ve revealed one of your cards to the enemy. Everything’s giving and taking in war. You can’t win ‘em all, and you can’t win without sacrifice. You take what you can and hold onto what you have, as best you can.”

“We’re not at war,” Ron said, though he suddenly seemed unsure, like maybe there was a secret war going on that they hadn’t been told about.

“Not yet,” Moody agreed. “We’re not at war yet.”

The three of them exchanged a nervous glance.

“Stick close to each other,” Moody warned. “Whoever put your name in the Goblet of Fire, whoever attacked Krum and Crouch, whoever it is that wants you dead, Potter, is still out there. Keep your wand at the level of your eyes, got it?”

“Yes sir,” Harry said, and swallowed a lump in his throat about the size of Trevor. “But--Professor, if the person who wants me dead is the one who attacked Viktor Krum, why didn’t he attack me when he attacked Krum? He could’ve made it look like Krum killed me, or Crouch did, or anything.”

Moody’s scarred face broke into a smile. “Now you’re thinking like an Auror. That’s the sort of question you should be asking, Potter.”

“If that’s the question,” Ron said, “then what’s the answer?”

“Don’t know--yet. We’ll figure it out. In the meantime, you two,” he turned his eye on Ron and Hermione, “you stick with him. He’ll need all the help he can get.” Moody stood with the help of his cane. “And I’ll keep an eye out for you of course. Can’t see everywhere at once, though. Close to it,” he smiled, “but not all.”

It seemed clear the impromptu meeting was over. Ron, Harry, and Hermione thanked Professor Moody for his time and walked down to the Great Hall.

“You don’t think Crouch is really dead,” Hermione said nervously.

“I think so,” Harry said. “He must be.”

“But no one found a body.”

“No one’s found him alive, either,” Ron said. “Think he’d be easier to find alive, all his raving.”

“What could he have known that someone would want to kill him for?” Hermione whispered as they sat down at Gryffindor’s table.

“Voldemort,” Harry said, and Ron shivered. “He knew something about Voldemort.”

“Don’t say his name,” Ron hissed.

Harry put together a roast beef sandwich, and ran through a list of suspects. Snape, Barty Crouch, Jr., and Regulus Black. But Snape was Dumbledore’s, Barty was on the run, and Regulus was on their side, wasn’t he?

\--- --- ---

Dear Harry,

That’s a terrible thing that happened to Mr. Crouch, and I’m sorry you had to be there to see it. I’m sure you did your best for him, and I hope that whatever happened, you don’t blame yourself.

But what were you thinking walking through the Forbidden Forest with Viktor Krum? We are worried enough about you as it is. Someone is trying very hard to hurt you. They are going to extreme lengths to get close to you, so please, whatever you do, do not leave the castle unless it’s for class. We worry about you enough as it is. Don’t make it easier for someone to hurt you.

We love you and we’ll see you at the last task.

Love,  
Mum and Dad

\--- --- ---

The rest of the weekend was painful for Harry. He remembered Ginny’s long ago offer of a Quidditch match and wanted nothing more than to fly out on the grounds in the perfect weather, made all the more tantalizing by its forbidden nature.

Ron and Hermione, though, were wonderful sports and offered to help him get started on learning curses for the final task. This was quite the sacrifice on their part, as they had to volunteer to be the recipients of every curse Harry learned.

They suffered Stunning Spells, Jelly-Legs Curses, Bat-Bogey Hexes, and Impediment Curses, and that was just Saturday and Sunday. There were three more weekends for Harry to learn protective spells.

“That book from Sirius would be good right about now,” Harry grumbled as he revived Ron.

Ron rubbed the back of his head and let Harry help him to his feet. “I think we’ve got plenty in this book, at least enough that I can suffer.”

“If you would land on the pillows,” Hermione said.

“It’s not like I can choose where I land once I’m Stunned. If it’s so easy, you try it.”

“Well, I think Harry’s about covered it. At least we can skip Disarming Spells. Harry, do you want to practice the Shield Charm, or do you feel confident in that?”

Harry was not as confident in his Shield Charm as he could be, so Ron and Hermione spent an hour throwing curses at him while he blocked.

Monday morning, Harry was eager to start practicing again, but they had a full day of classes to get through first. Care of Magical Creatures had never taken so long, in Harry’s opinion. Even though Hagrid had been sticking to the much more thrilling lesson of unicorns, and abandoned Blast-Ended Skrewts, Harry was anxious to get back to curses.

Divination, in the oppressive heat of Trelawney’s tower, was near torturous. Harry and Ron sank into bean bag chairs while Trelawney dimmed the lights. Instead, she used what Harry thought at first was a crystal ball, until it glowed with a white light and cast stars about the tower.

“Here,” Trelawney said, as she walked around the room. “We’ve been studying stars all year now. Who can tell me what this is, here?” she pointed.

Harry struggled to keep his eyes open, but her incense always made him sleepy.

“Neptune?” Lavender volunteered.

Trelawney adjusted her glasses. “No, my dears. Look, closer, and see the unusual angle it is making with Mars. This is Pluto. Now, pay attention….”

But attention was the last thing Harry had to spend. The breeze fluttering through the open window, and the hum of an insect flitting about the classroom was the last thing he needed to lull him into a light slumber. It was light at first, at least, but as he began to dream about being on his broom, with a gentle wind in his face, and the buzz of a Snitch just in front of him, he felt the dream pulling him in deeper, darker.

Harry’s broom landed in front of a house. It clearly belonged to a wizard, because Harry recognized the Singing Bell Blossoms in the window box planter, though they were old and wilted. No one had cared for them in weeks. 

“Pluto,” Trelawney said, voice distant, like she was speaking through a thick fog, “is a harbinger of death, and squared with Mars….”

But before Harry could hear what Pluto did when squared with Mars, he stepped inside the house, and Trelawney’s voice was lost to him. He was in a sitting room, behind a chair. His heart started to race. He knew this chair back--this was where his dreams about Voldemort had taken place. He turned around for the door, but it wasn’t there anymore.

A snake slithered past him towards a crumpled heap on the floor. Harry, realizing he couldn’t go back, took a tentative step forward. Inside the heap of robes was a man. Pale, freckled, with sandy hair, and “thin as a rail,” to use one of his mother’s Muggle phrases. It was Barty Crouch, Jr.

“My lord--” Barty Crouch spoke in a hoarse voice.

“ _Crucio_ ,” a voice from the chair rasped. There was a red light and Barty Crouch writhed in pain.

Harry winced. He was not overly fond of Barty Crouch, but he couldn’t stand to see anyone suffer like this.

“You are not fit to serve me,” Voldemort snarled.

“I am,” Barty managed between screams. “Please--”

Voldemort waved his wand, and Barty returned to a shivering, crumpled form, only a wisp of the defiant young man Harry had met in the Shrieking Shack last year.

“You let your father escape.”

“My lord, I didn’t.”

“Your mistake nearly cost us everything. Months of preparation, of work, lost! Because you could not perform a simple spell. Because you care for your fool of a father--”

“I don’t! You’re the only person I serve, I only wanted to protect you. He was no father to me, please, you know this!”

“And yet,” Voldemort’s voice increased in volume and pitch, “that was not even your worst crime! _Crucio!_ ”

Harry covered his ears as Barty screamed again, but it did not drown the sound out. It was like the screams were getting into his head by means of his scar, and the pain in his forehead threatened to split his head into two.

“You stole my wand! You took my wand--What right do you have to take my wand?”

Voldemort waved his wand, and Barty stopped screaming, but he didn’t answer. Barty only sobbed into the carpet. Harry wished he could step forward and help. Even Barty Crouch didn’t deserve this.

“I should have you fed to Nagini for such insolence.” 

The snake flicked her tongue and made a circle around Barty.

“My lord,” he panted, voice weak. “Please… My wand is not….”

“And if you had been caught? Everything would have been ruined!”

“My lord, please.” Barty struggled up to his hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the chair. “I would never betray you. Not for anything. Not for anyone. Especially not for my father, who disowned me long after I denounced him.”

There was a long silence in which Harry silently prayed Voldemort would not use the Cruciatus Curse again. He thought Barty was hoping the same thing.

“You are forgiven. The Dark Lord forgives those who are loyal to him. You will have to fix your mistake.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You will not be fed to Nagini tonight, then.”

The snake hissed.

“Do not worry, Nagini. You will feast soon. Soon, we will have Harry Potter.”

Harry was thrown from the dream in a sudden burst of pain. He fell onto the floor of Trelawney’s classroom clutching at his forehead.

The entire classroom was standing around him, and Ron and Seamus were helping him up. 

“Are you alright?” Ron asked. He looked pale, terrified. Harry felt much the same.

“Of course he isn’t!” Professor Trelawney looked thrilled. She adjusted her spectacles and leaned in close to Harry. “What was it? A premonition? An apparition? What did you see?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. “It’s just a headache.”

“You were clutching your scar! Come now, Potter, I have experience in these matters.”

Harry got to his feet. “It’s just a headache. I’m going to see Madam Pomfrey.”

“My dear, you were undoubtedly stimulated by the extraordinary clairvoyant fibrations of my room! If you leave now, you may lose the opportunity to see further than you have ever--”

“I don’t want to see anything except a headache cure.” Harry got to his feet and headed for the trapdoor. He didn’t realize he’d forgotten his bag until he was halfway down the hall. He hoped Ron would remember to get it for him.

Instead of the hospital wing, however, Harry went straight to Dumbledore’s office. His dream about Voldemort had been the most detailed, the most terrifying, and the one that had lingered strongest than any of his others, even the ones he’d had over the summer. Harry knew Dumbledore would want to hear it, and so would his parents. He’d write to them after he’d spoken to Dumbledore. 

Surely his dreams were real, then. They were not mindless nightmares, as Remus and his mother had suggested. They were in fact a glimpse of what Voldemort was doing. And Voldemort was torturing Barty Crouch, over a mistake, a mistake Barty had tried to fix by taking Voldemort’s wand. Harry didn’t understand.

He was so lost in thought that he walked straight past Dumbledore’s office and had to retrace his steps. He arrived at the stone gargoyle and remembered he still didn’t know what the password was.

“Lemon drop?” he tried doubtfully.

As before, the gargoyle didn’t budge.

“Pear drop?”

Nothing.

“Licorice wand. Fizzing Whizbee. Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans… oh no, he doesn’t like them, does he? Canary Creams. Those aren’t on the market yet, though. Just open, can’t you? It’s urgent!” Harry kicked the gargoyle in frustration, and in still remained motionless. “Chocolate Frog! Sugar Quill! Cockroach Cluster!”

The gargoyle began to turn. Harry blinked, frustration and fear quelled momentarily by surprise. He hadn’t really expected it to work.

He hurried forward and up the stairs. The spiral staircase moved slowly beneath his feet, lifting him to the oak door and brass knocker of Dumbledore’s office. He stepped off the staircase and put his hand on the knocker, but he heard voices inside, and hesitated.

“Dumbledore, I’m afraid I don’t see the connection, don’t see it at all!” Cornelius Fudge was there. “Bertha Jorkin’s disappearance and death, tragic as it was, was months ago. Barty Crouch has been overworked for years. It’s no wonder he lost his mind and wandered off. We’ve all been telling him he works too hard, but you know how he is. He’ll turn up in a day or two, I’m sure.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Moody asked.

“Well,” Fudge sounded quite flustered, “Or--well, I’ll reserve judgement until after I’ve seen the place where he was found, but you say it was just past the Beauxbatons carriage? Dumbledore, you know what that woman is?”

“I consider her to be a very able headmistress--and an excellent dancer.”

“Dumbledore, don’t you think you might be prejudiced in her favor because of Hagrid? They don’t all turn out harmless--if, indeed, you can call Hagrid harmless, with that monster fixation he’s got--”

“I no more suspect Madame Maxime than Hagrid. I think it possible that it is you who are prejudiced, Cornelius.”

“Can we wrap up this discussion?” said Moody.

“Yes, let’s go down to the grounds, then,” Fudge said with a huff.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that Potter wands a word with you, Dumbledore. He’s just outside the door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanons, comments, critiques, questions, anything and everything, I'd love to hear it!


	30. The Pensieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry takes a walk down Dumbledore's memory lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a real chapter, that got written before my personal deadline, that got beta'd before it got to you, instead of the late norm of me posting the chapter the moment its done, hand-written in a rush at work, and typed up while hungover the next day. I hope you guys like this chapter. There are parts of it that are very precious to me.
> 
> Sad but important note: This may actually be the last chapter for a while. I know this is the WORST TIMING. I had high hopes of finishing Goblet of Fire before I started school, but those were pipe dreams. I am now swimming in homework and I'm not sure what time I will have to write. I will of course be working on this series every chance I get, but I can no longer promise consistent weekend updates. You know I will do my damnedest, I always have, but I think a fair warning is needed. I still can't believe we've had almost a year of consistent updates. That just blows my mind away. I didn't know I could write so consistently before, and I'm so grateful you've kept with me through that time, and so grateful there are still people out there just starting the series and pushing on through it. You're all wonderful, and I promise I will post chapters as they are finished.

Harry was embarrassed to have been caught eavesdropping, but it was too late to turn around and run, or pretend he’d only just arrived and hadn’t heard anything. He could only stand there awkwardly as the door to Dumbledore’s office swung open.

“Come in, then, Potter,” Moody said.

Harry looked to Dumbledore, for help, permission, or forgiveness, Harry wasn’t sure, maybe all three. Dumbledore extended his hand ever so slightly, and Harry walked into the familiar office.

Cornelius Fudge smiled at Harry from behind Dumbledore’s desk. He walked around the desk to shake Harry’s hand. “Harry! How are you?”

“Just fine,” Harry said. He didn’t feel much like telling the Minister for Magic he was having visions of Voldemort.

“We were just talking about the night when Mr. Crouch turned up on the grounds.”

“I heard.”

“Oh--”

“I didn’t see Madame Maxime anywhere nearby when I found Mr. Crouch. She’d have a job hiding, wouldn’t she?”

Fudge looked quite embarrassed, and behind his back, Dumbledore winked at Harry.

“We’re about to take a short walk on the grounds,” Dumbledore said. “We shan’t be long. You may wait for me here.”

Harry nodded and sat down in a chair across from Dumbledore’s desk to wait. While the heavy clunking of Professor Moody’s prosthetic leg faded away, Harry scanned the portraits on the walls. Most of them were familiar by now, after all the times he’d come up to the Headmaster’s office. A few were empty, off visiting other portraits of themselves elsewhere in wizarding world. Harry didn’t see anyone from his own family, but he did notice Phineas Nigellus Black, whose name was in the book Regulus had sent Harry for Christmas. He looked incredibly stern as he stared down at Harry, but he said nothing. None of the portraits had ever spoken to Harry. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d heard any speak at all. That struck him as odd, but maybe there were certain rules to Headmaster portraits.

Fawkes sat on his perch, red and gold plumage glinting in the lamplight. He was fair bit larger than when Harry had seen him in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry wondered if he would get much bigger. Phoenixes lived a hundred years, after all, and Fawkes was only in his third year of his new cycle, and already as big as a swan. If he got much bigger, he’d have to find somewhere else to live.

The Sorting Hat and the Sword of Godric Gryffindor were in their familiar places, but there was a strange shimmering light dancing over them that Harry had never seen before, like a reflection of water. Harry used the shadow of his hand to find the source of the light: a small, stone basin tucked away in a silver cabinet. There were runes carved around the edge of the basin. Maybe Hermione could translate them, but not Harry. Inside the basin was a silver white liquid. It reminded Harry of a patronus, both fluid and gaseous, but it did not glow quite so brightly.

Harry knew he ought not touch the liquid--it could be any manner of dangerous--so he took out his wand and prodded the milky substance. It began to swirl, and as Harry looked more closely, the surface began to clear.

He was looking into a strange room inside the basin, one Harry had never seen before. Surely it wasn’t Hogwarts. It was stone, but much darker stone, and lit with torches. There were benches along the walls and Harry could see the tops of wizards’ hats, like he was looking down on the room inside the basin. Harry leaned closer for a better look, then suddenly he was falling.

He felt like he’d fallen into the Black Lake. It was cold and dark, and he was being pulled downward like he was caught in a whirpool. But instead of hitting the stone floor, he landed perfectly seated beside Dumbledore.

Harry looked up at Dumbledore for help, but Dumbledore was ignoring him, eyes focused on the metal doors across the room. Harry looked around at the other witches and wizards, none of whom took notice of him either. They, too, were staring at the doors, or whispering to each other.

Harry noticed a chair covered in loose chains in the center of the room, and directly across from it, near where Harry and Dumbledore sat, was a large dais where Barty Crouch stood, looking as serious as ever. 

Harry was surprised to see Barty Crouch looking so well, after seeing him looking so ill just the other evening. He tried to reach out to get Dumbledore’s attention, but Dumbledore was looking expectantly at the doors across the room, just like the rest of the witches and wizards. He seemed to be ignoring Harry quite expertly.

Harry took another look at the chair and realized what this was and where he was all at once: his was a trial in the dungeons beneath the Ministry. But those were only known to Harry through horror stories whispered by older children at family campfires, or, more recently, when Remus had been put on trial for casting the Dark Mark.

But how had he got here? And why was Dumbledore ignoring him? 

Harry tried again to get Dumbledore’s attention by grabbing Dumbledore’s cloak, and his hand passed through Dumbledore as if he were made of smoke. Harry realized this must be a memory, and one that wasn’t too long ago. Barty Crouch was not much less aged, nor was Dumbledore any less gray. But before Harry could guess how long ago this trial really was, the metal doors swung open. The room went cold and dementors entered. Though Harry knew this was a memory, and knew they could not hurt him, he still shrank back, into Dumbledore for protection.

In between the two dementors was a man Harry vaguely recognized. He was a fair bit older than Harry’s parents, perhaps not as old as Crouch, certainly not as old as Dumbledore, but his hair was long and gray. His entire appearance was unkempt, and his dark eyes were wild. He was led to the chair by the dementors. The chains sprang to life and bound him tightly, and Crouch waved off the dementors.

“Igor Karkaroff,” said Crouch.

Harry realized this was the Headmaster of Durmstrang who had gone missing. But Harry had never seen him before, so why did he look so familiar?

“You have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You have given us to understand that you had important information for us.”

“I have sir,” Karkaroff said. “I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I--I know that the Ministry is trying to round up the last of the Dark Lord’s supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can.”

As Karkaroff begged, Harry remembered him. He’d been in a dream Harry’d had during the summer, a man Voldemort had killed. This man had defied Voldemort at this trial, only to be murdered later in Harry’s nightmares. That thought made Harry go cold.

“You say you have names for us,” said Crouch. “Let us hear them.”

Karkaroff drew in a deep breath. “There was… Antonin Dolohov. I saw him torture countless Muggles and--and non-supporters of the Dark Lord.”

“We already apprehended Dolohov. He was caught shortly after yourself.”

“Indeed? I--I am delighted to hear it!” But Karkaroff didn’t look delighted. He looked panicked, like all his information would be useless, and he’d be dragged back to Azkaban.

“Any others?” asked Crouch.

“Yes! Yes! Evan Rosier.”

“Rosier is dead. He was caught shortly after you were too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle.”

“Took a bit of me with him,” a voice behind Harry whispered. Harry turned to see Professor Moody watching the proceedings. He still had both his eyes, but he was missing a huge chunk of his nose, which he pointed to as he spoke.

“And me,” grumbled a man just behind Moody. Harry noticed two men with red hair, both leaning against the wall. One had his arms crossed over his chest, but the other one, who had spoken, only had one arm. His right arm was missing entirely.

“No--no more than Rosier deserved!” Karkaroff’s voice increased in pitch.

“Is that all?” Crouch asked.

“No!” Karkaroff struggled against his chains. The entire Wizengamot stiffened. “There was Travers--he helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber--he specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Rookwood, who was a spy, and passed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself!”

The witches and wizards murmured to one another in astonishment. Crouch had to tap his wand against the edge of his podium, which created a far larger noise than a wand would have naturally, like a magical gavel.

“Rookwood!” he said. “Augustus Rookwood of the department of Mysteries?”

“The very same,” said Karkaroff. He realized he finally had something. “I believe he used a network of well-placed wizards, both inside the Ministry and out, to collect information--”

“Yes, well, Travers and Mulciber we have. Very well Karkaroff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide--”

“No, I have more! Severus Snape!”

“Snape has been cleared by this council. He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore.”

“No! I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!”

Dumbledore stood. “I have given evidence already on this matter. Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater, however he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort’s downfall at turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am.”

Harry looked back at Alastor Moody, who was glaring suspiciously at Dumbledore. If Moody didn’t believe Dumbledore about Snape, then that explained why Moody was so suspicious of Snape. Maybe Regulus didn’t believe Snape had turned sides either.

“Very well, Karkaroff,” Crouch said, “you have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime.”

Karkaroff begged not to go as he was taken away by the dementors.

Moody snorted. “I know he’s already made a deal with Crouch. They’ll let him out. Six months to catch him, and he gets off for a couple names.”

“Better to learn late than learn never,” Dumbledore said. 

“Kneazles don’t change their stripes,” Moody said, and the memory was suddenly swept away in smoke.

When the smoke cleared, Harry had not moved. However, Dumbledore and Crouch were wearing new robes. Harry realized this was a different day, a different trial.

There were no dementors this time. Ludo Bagman sat in the chair in the middle of the dungeon, but he was not bound by the chains, and only eyed them briefly, like he couldn’t decide if he should be worried or not. Worry didn’t seem to be the sort of emotion Ludo Bagman was familiar with.

“Ludo Bagman,” Crouch said, “you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law to answer charges relating to the activities of the Death Eaters. We have heard the evidence against you, and are about to reach our verdict. Do you have anything to add to your testimony before we pronounce judgement?”

Ludo Bagman shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tried for a smile. “Well, I know I’ve been a bit of an idiot--”

“Never spoke a truer word,” Moody grumbled behind Dumbledore. “If I didn’t know he’d always been dim, I’d have said some of those Bludgers had permanently affected his brain.”

“Ludovic Bagman, you were caught passing information to Lord Voldemort’s supporters,” Crouch said. “For this, I suggest a term of imprisonment in Azkaban lasting no less than--”

The witches and wizards on the benches made noises of protest. Harry felt similarly. He couldn’t imagine Ludo Bagman being a Death Eater. Ludo wasn’t smart, but he was certainly not a bad person.

“But I’ve told you, I had no idea,” Bagman said. “None at all! Old Rookwood was a friend of my dad’s. Never crossed my mind he was in with You-Know-Who! I thought I was collecting information for our side! And Rookwood kept talking about getting me a job in the Ministry later on, once my Quidditch days are over, you know. I mean, I can’t keep getting hit by Bludgers for the rest of my life, can I?”

The crowd giggled a little, and Harry thought that Ludo Bagman was either the most talented liar in the world, or the most naive man Harry had ever met.

“It will be put to a vote,” said Mr. Crouch. He did not seem impressed by Bagman at all. Crouch gestured to the right hand side of the dungeon. “The jury will please raise their hands, those in favor of imprisonment.”

Harry leaned around Dumbledore to get a better look at the right hand side of the dungeon. Not a single witch or wizard raised their hand. A few in the crowd on the left hand side of the dungeon began to clap. A small witch on the jury stood up and adjusted her hat.

“Yes?” Crouch said.

The witch smoothed her long hair. “We’d just like to congratulate Mr. Bagman on his splendid performance for England in the Quidditch match against Turkey last Saturday.”

Crouch frowned and tapped his wand against the podium to silence the crowd’s applause. As Bagman was led away, Crouch muttered to Dumbledore, “Rookwood get him a job…. The day Bagman joins the Ministry will be a sad day indeed.”

The memory dissolved again, replaced with a new trial. Harry was still seated beside Dumbledore at the top of the benches, with Crouch to his left. The crowd and jury were each far more tense than they had been for the last trial. At the base of the crowd was a frail woman with pale blonde hair, sobbing into a handkerchief.

The two red-headed men Harry had seen in the first trial now stood near the doors, wands out. Moody sat behind Dumbledore as usual; this time, though he was wearing an eyepatch over his left eye.

Crouch had gray streaks in his hair now. His mustache had changed completely, and the wrinkles that had been faint in the previous trials now seemed sharply carved into his face. Harry wasn’t sure if it was age or tension. He suspected the latter, because a nerve in Crouch’s temple kept twitching.

“Bring them in,” he said.

The two men opened the doors to the dungeons and six dementors led in five prisoners. Each one was placed in a chained chair in the middle of the floor.

Two Harry had never seen before. One was tall and thin, the other rather stocky, but their faces were similarly square and their eyes equally cold and cruel. The thinner man seemed more nervous than the other, eyes darting between Crouch, the dementors, and the woman beside him.

The woman Harry knew in face, though she looked radically different than the photograph he’d seen of her in Regulus’s book. Her picture had been labeled Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, one of Regulus’s cousins. She’d worn a proud expression in her picture, and though her smile had suggested a potential for cruelty, she looked like the sort of person who one might expect in polite pureblood society.

Now, however, her pride was haughty and her smile vicious. Her shining dark curls were in disarray, but she wore it like another witch might wear pearls. She seemed proud to be there, and Harry wondered if the dementors had any affect on her.

The fourth prisoner was familiar to Harry, and yet Harry had never seen him like this before. Barty Crouch, Jr., pale, blond, and freckled as ever, with a clean tear through his ear, but when Harry had met him, he’d been much like Bellatrix: proud, cruel, in defiance of everyone around them. In front of the jury, however, between the dementors, he was shaking, and he seemed absolutely terrified. The witch in the front of the crowd broke into sobs as he was chained to one of the five chairs.

The last prisoner was Regulus Black, who looked as he always did. Impassive, cold, as if he was sitting down to dinner, not to trial. Perhaps he was a little thinner from his time in Azkaban. There were dark shadows under his eyes, but all-in-all he seemed unaffected. Harry found it both striking and unnerving.

Mr. Crouch stood, and with utter loathing on his face, announced their crime. “You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law so that we may pass judgement on you, for a crime so heinous--”

“Father,” Barty begged, “Father please, it wasn’t me--I didn’t do it.”

“We have heard the evidence against you,” Crouch continued, as if his son had not spoken. “The five of you stand accused of capturing Aurors Frank Longbottom and Alice Longbottom and subjecting them to the Cruciatus Curse, believing them to have knowledge of the present wherabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

 

“Father, I didn’t! I didn’t, I swear it, Father, don’t send me back to the dementors! Mother, tell him,” Barty screamed. “It wasn’t me--it was Regulus, I told you!”

If Regulus felt any anger at Barty’s betrayal, it didn’t show on his face. He said nothing in his own defense, as if he knew there was no positive outcome for this. Harry remembered that Regulus had repeated that though he was innocent of torturing the Longbottoms, he was not entirely guiltless during the war. Harry wondered if Regulus thought he deserved to be punished for at least something.

“I now ask the jury,” Mr. Crouch shouted over his son’s desperate pleas and his wife’s sobs, “to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!”

As the crowd raised their hands, Barty desperately tried one last time: “Mother, stop him! I didn’t do it! Please, Father! I’m your son! I’m your son!”

Mr. Crouch’s answer was full of cold fury. “I have no son.”

For a moment, Harry saw pure horror on Regulus’s face. But it quickly faded as the dementors approached.

“Mother,” Barty screamed, but the woman in the front did nothing. “I didn’t do it! I didn’t know! Don’t let him send me there! Mother!” 

She only sobbed uncontrollably.

“The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch!” shouted Bellatrix Lestrange, voice easily carrying over Barty’s screams and Mrs. Crouch. Harry thought she might have made a good public speaker. “Throw us in Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us. He will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!”

The dementors effects began to take hold of Barty, and he was forced to stop struggling, able only to sob, like his mother. Bellatrix’s laughter, however, echoed down the stone hallway, the only sound left in the dungeon, lingering even as the scenery turned to smoke.

Instead of another trial, the memory took Harry to someone’s office. He was still standing beside Dumbledore, confirming to Harry that these were Dumbledore’s memories he was experiencing. But this office was nothing like Dumbledore’s. It was significantly smaller, empty entirely of portraits and pictures, save a single framed photo of a young blonde woman smiling shyly. It took Harry a moment to recognize her as Mrs. Crouch. Instead of the endless assortment of knick-knacks that covered Dumbledore’s desk, this desk was covered in stacks of parchment, all neatly arranged and color coded. Mr. Crouch sat behind the stacks, a sheet of parchment in each hand.

“I don’t understand, Dumbledore, why you are so resistant to the idea,” said Crouch. “Karkaroff and Madame Maxime have already agreed as long as Hogwarts hosts the event.”

“I do not mind having guests at Hogwarts, and I agree that now, more than ever, is the time to build up our friendships.”

Crouch looked at Dumbledore as if he didn’t quite understand what Dumbledore meant by that, and perhaps he didn’t want to.

“However,” Dumbledore continued, “the tournament was disbanded for safety reasons. I believe a student was killed.”

“Yes, I told Bagman additional safety measures would have to be implemented. I even suggested an age restriction on entrants. Perhaps fourteen or fifteen--”

“Seventeen,” Dumbledore said. “I will only accept if the students must be of age to compete.”

Crouch frowned. “Maxime and Karkaroff won’t like it.”

“Those are my terms.”

Crouch set aside the two sheafs he had been holding and began to write on a new sheet of parchment. He signed it, rolled it, and sealed it. “Very well, Dumbledore. I shall inform them of your decision. It is a sensible one, but Ludo Bagman will throw quite the fit over it.”

Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. “Dealing with Ministry officials is your job, Barty, not mine.”

“It could have been your job, had you accepted the position as Minister for Magic.”

“And it could have been yours, but we took different paths, made different choices.”

Crouch frowned, but he didn’t protest Dumbledore’s statement. Harry remembered someone saying Crouch had been poised to become Minister for Magic, but because of his son’s trial had lost face in the Ministry. It made Dumbledore’s statement seem rude.

“I know why you’re so insistent on this Tournament, Barty. Your career hasn’t been for nothing. And now your son--”

Barty Crouch stood up. “Dumbledore, I lost my son a long time ago. I lost my wife, too. Now all I have is a career. This has nothing to do with finding out that Barty escaped Azkaban. I will not let that boy take any more from me than he has.”

“I always thought of you as a better man than that.”

There was a moment of silence between Dumbledore and Crouch. It seemed Dumbledore had said all he wanted to say, and Crouch was left trying to sort through their conversation. Harry had felt like that after a lot of conversations with Dumbledore.

Crouch finally stepped past Dumbledore and opened the door to his office. “New boy! What was your name?”

Percy Weasley came running to the door. “Yes, sir--”

“Weatherby, was it?”

“Er--Yes, sir.”

Crouch handed him the parchment. “Take this straight to Bertha Jorkins to give to Bagman. I need you to catch her before she goes running off to Albania. Honestly, taking a vacation at a time like this--Why Ludo approved it I’ll never know. Nevermind, he’s an idiot, and that I know. Well, what are you standing there for? Hurry off.”

“Yes, sir.” Percy took the letter and ran out of the office with only a quick nod of acknowledgement to Dumbledore.

“You’ll run him off, Barty,” Dumbledore said with a small smile.

“No, I can’t seem to give that one enough work. He’s a bit too overzealous if you ask me. Though I appreciate the work ethic.”

“Well, Harry,” Dumbledore said, “perhaps we’d better be going.”

Harry turned to his left and realized there were two Dumbledores, one talking to Crouch and one now talking to Harry.

“Er, alright.” 

Dumbledore took Harry’s hand and, as the memory dissolved into smoke, Harry felt himself rising upward, moving slowly backwards through the whirlpool he’d arrived in, until he was back on his own two feet in Dumbledore’s office.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Harry said. “I didn’t mean to--the cabinet was open, and--”

“Quite alright, Harry.” Dumbledore lifted the stone basin and took it to his desk. He sat down. “Curiosity is not a sin.”

Encouraged, Harry sat down and asked, “What is it?”

“This is called a Pensieve. I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind.”

Harry sort of knew. He felt more like he had too many questions and couldn’t remember them all at once.

“At these times, I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one’s mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one’s leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form.”

“You mean… that stuff’s your thoughts?” Harry tried very hard not to be disgusted by the fact that he’d fallen into the inside of Dumbledore’s brain, or at least not to show it.

“Certainly,” said Dumbledore. He took his wand from his robes and pressed it to his temple. When he pulled his wand away, a white-silvery strand came away with it. Harry was again reminded of a patronus with less shine. Dumbledore dropped the white into the basin and it swirled in with the rest of the liquid. Snape’s face appeared on the surface. 

“It’s coming back... clearer and stronger every day….” Snape’s voice echoed in the stone basin.

Dumbledore sighed. “A connection I could have made without assistance. But never mind.” Dumbledore tapped his wand against the Pensieve and the liquid inside stilled to a milky white, Snape’s face absorbed inside. “I was using the Pensieve when Mr. Fudge arrived for our meeting and I put it away hastily. Undoubtedly I did not fasten the cabinet door properly. Naturally it would have attracted your attention.”

Harry looked up at Professor Dumbledore. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“A curious thing, privacy.” Dumbledore smiled slightly. “No pun intended, but certainly welcomed.” Then he frowned and tapped his wand against the stone basin. The figure of Regulus Black rose out of it, though much younger-looking. “Perhaps,” Dumbledore said as the figure of Regulus began to revolve slowly in the basin, “I should not be surprised that four of Hogwarts’ most brilliant students managed to become underage Animagi without supervision. Though I am surprised it happened under the noses of the professors.”

“Do you trust Regulus Black?” Harry asked. He wasn’t sure that was the question he’d meant to ask, but it was the one that popped out, the one that had been weighing on him most heavily since he’d met Sirius and Remus in Hogsmeade.

The floating figure of Regulus spoke, but his voice echoed from the depths of the basin as Snape’s had, sounding a fair bit older and deeper than the image above the Pensieve, more like the Regulus Harry knew. “Please, take it. As a token of my loyalty, and please destroy it.”

“I do, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “He has been most valuable these past months. But I do not blame you or Sirius or anyone else for being worried.” He tapped his wand against the Basin again and the figure vanished. “Now, before you got lost in my thoughts, you came here to speak to me about something.”

“Yes.” Harry shifted in his seat. “I was in Divination and I, er, fell asleep.” He waited for Dumbledore’s reprimand, but it didn’t come.

“Understandable. Continue.”

“I had a dream. Voldemort was torturing Barty Crouch. Barty Crouch Jr., I mean. Mr. Crouch’s son. He--Voldemort--said that Barty had made a terrible mistake. Something about caring too much for his father, and he threatened to feed Barty to his snake--Voldemort has a snake--but then he forgave Barty, as long as Barty fixes his mistake, and he said--he said he’d feed me to the snake instead.”

Harry waited for Dumbledore to react, but Dumbledore only sat and looked at Harry.

“Er--That’s all, Professor.”

“I see. And has your scar hurt at any other time, besides your dreams over the summer?”

Harry wasn’t exactly surprised Dumbledore knew about his dreams during the summer. He knew his parents kept in close contact with Dumbledore, but it was strange to hear Dumbledore address it. “Not really. Professor, in the dream I had during the summer, I saw Voldemort kill Igor Karkaroff. He was the Headmaster of Durmstrang, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Why would Voldemort kill him?”

“That, I cannot say. Perhaps Voldemort found him disloyal. He was very instrumental to the Ministry in bringing in some of the last Death Eaters, as you saw.”

 

“Do you know why I keep having these dreams? Why my scar hurts?”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and turned his gaze to the ceiling. Harry looked there too, but he didn’t see anything. He waited while Dumbledore drew in a long breath and let it out just as slowly.

“I believe,” Dumbledore said, “that your scar hurts both when Voldemort is near you and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred.”

“Why? Why me?”

“You and Voldemort are connected, for better or worse by the curse that failed, by your scar.”

“So my dreams, they really happened? Voldemort really killed and tortured those people?”

“I would saw it’s rather probable. Did you see Voldemort in your dreams?”

“No, always the back of the chair. But what would there be to see? Voldemort hasn’t got a body. But… then how would he hold a wand?”

Dumbledore ran his hand over his mouth, eyes still on the ceiling. “How indeed?” He took his wand and added a memory to the Pensieve.

“Do you think Voldemort is getting stronger?”

“Things are happening as they did before, yes. These deaths….” Dumbledore paused, and Harry suddenly realized how very old he looked. “Voldemort’s ascent to power was riddled with disappearances and rumored deaths, disappearances like Mr. Crouch’s, Karkaroff’s, and Bertha Jorkins. I believe these are connected. The Ministry, however… well, I believe you heard what the Ministry thinks.”

Harry had never been particularly fond of Cornelius Fudge, especially not after last year, when Fudge had tried to use his parents as bait to catch Regulus Black. He was not too surprised to find that Fudge didn’t agree with Dumbledore.

“Now, Harry, if that is all, I think you ought to get back to class.”

Harry got to his feet. “Er--one more question. Do you think Mr. Bagman was innocent?”

“Mr. Bagman has not been accused of any dark magic activities since.”

“And--”

“Nor has Professor Snape.”

“What made you so sure Snape left Voldemort?”

“That is a matter between Professor Snape and myself, as is the question of Regulus Black’s loyalty.”

Harry could tell by Dumbledore’s tone that asking further questions would get him nowhere. He still had so many, of course, but at least he knew why he was having these dreams, and he knew why his scar hurt. He also knew what had happened to Karkaroff. 

Harry got up to leave and ran a check of things he still didn’t know: Who put his name in the goblet, what was Voldemort planning, and why was Regulus Black at Hogwarts, but maybe Dumbledore didn’t know the answers either.

“And Harry,” Dumbledore said as Harry reached the door, “good luck with the third task.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanons, comments, questions, etc, always appreciated. Your guys's comments actually make my week, and when I'm having a particularly difficult week I like to read over them for some encouragement, so really, I promise they're noticed and appreciated more than I can say.


	31. The Third Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and the champions must face the last task of the triwizard tournament, and survive a twist ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I approach the end of one of these stories, there is often a tipping point, where I write several chapters in a row, abandon all food, sleep, and responsibilities, to get through the climax and finish the book. I thought I would hit that tipping point last week, I did not. It seems this chapter was the tipping point, because upon finishing this chapter Friday, I proceeded to spend my holiday weekend doing absolutely nothing but write this AU until it was completed. And my amazing beta, ageofzero, did the Herculean task of editing all seven of the final chapters in one sitting. I was impressed and flattered and, I think we can both say, you are all in for a treat.
> 
> So I will post chapter thirty-one as a late version of last week, and the rest of this book will follow a regular Friday schedule update, because IT IS DONE. Also I now have about 15 hours of homework to get done today.... _I survived, but I paid for it._

Harry told Ron and Hermione everything he’d seen in the Pensieve as soon as they had a quiet corner in Gryffindor tower.

“Snape was a Death Eater?” Ron said.

Hermione told him to keep his voice down.

“That makes sense,” he continued, a little quieter. “He’s always hated Harry.”

“But now he’s on our side,” Hermione said. “If Dumbledore trusts him, that should be good enough--”

“Moody doesn’t trust him,” said Harry, who, as much as he trusted Dumbledore, was growing tired of the idea his father and Remus had so often argued, that Dumbledore’s faith in someone automatically made them a good person. “Moody searched his office. He thinks Snape’s still a Death Eater.”

“Regulus Black was a Death Eater.”

“Regulus told me he doesn’t trust Snape either.”

“If Snape and Regulus can’t trust each other,” said Ron, “how can we trust either of them?”

Harry wasn’t sure he had an answer to that. He wanted to trust Regulus Black, but Ron had a point. And Snape and Regulus’s personalities didn’t help either of their cases. Snape was openly cruel to Harry and other students in Gryffindor, and Regulus was so reserved it was impossible to know his true intentions. They each seemed to dislike each other despite the fact that they had chosen to turn against Voldemort. 

“We haven’t been able to figure out who put your name in all year,” Ron continued. “Dumbledore’s memories aren’t going to give us any more answers. The only way we’re going to beat whoever did it is if you win the tournament.”

Hermione sighed. “Ron’s right. Come on, let’s practice the Jelly-Brain Jinx, since you got the legs one down.”

They practiced for the better part of the morning, until they had to grab a quick breakfast before Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures.

Hagrid, fortunately, had given up on skrewts, and continued with Grubbly-Plank’s more exciting lessons. He was showing them Beauxbatons’s enormous flying horses today. Harry learned more than he needed to about their diet and the intensive care that went into keeping their chestnut coats and golden mane clean, but he took detailed notes because it was Hagrid, and Harry wanted nothing more than to support Hagrid.

The only people still complaining about Hagrid’s classes were Malfoy and his cronies. Even Pansy Parkinson, though, had warmed up during the unicorn lesson. She and Millicent were patting the nose of one of the winged horses, and when Hagrid brought out the single-malt whiskey for those who wanted to feed the horses, they each grabbed a bucket.

Madame Maxime came out in the middle of the lesson and asked Hagrid how the class was going and how the horses were, but his answers were brief and a little curt. Harry wondered why Hagrid was so upset with her. Surely Hagrid didn’t think she’d hurt Mr. Crouch like Fudge did.

On their way back to the castle for lunch, Hermione, Ron, and Harry saw Malfoy stop and pick something up out of the grass. He held it close in his hand and seemed to be whispering to it.

“What’s he doing?” asked Ron.

Hermione frowned. “No idea. Come on, you’ll be late for Divination if we don’t hurry.”

“Oh no,” Harry said, “how terrible.”

\--- --- ---

Harry received more letters in the two weeks leading up to the third task than he ever had before. There were at least two a day between his parents, Remus, and Sirius. Sometimes he’d receive several from Sirius at once, as if Sirius would remember a curse and scribble a letter to Harry immediately, only to remember another spell moments later and write another letter.

On the day of the task, Harry woke up feeling nervous, but not much more than he might have if he was about to play a Quidditch match. He felt confident knowing that he’d done everything he could to prepare for this task. And, he was bolstered by the knowledge that the tournament would soon be over.

Harry went downstairs to breakfast with Ron and Hermione, and unlike he had before the other two tasks, managed to eat a bit of toast and eggs. The Owl Post arrived, and for the first time in two weeks, Hedwig had nothing to deliver to Harry. She came to his table anyway and nipped his finger, then stole some bacon before flying off. Harry took it as her way of wishing him good luck.

Hermione’s morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_ arrived. She unrolled the paper and spat her pumpkin juice all over the front page.

“What?” Ron and Harry asked.

“Nothing,” said Hermione. She took the paper and stuffed it into her bag.

Ron grabbed it from her before she could close her bag. He frowned at the front page. “No way. Not today. That old cow.”

“What?” Harry asked again. “Is it Rita Skeeter?”

“No,” Ron said, and crumpled up the paper.

Harry was about to snatch it from Ron when Malfoy shouted at him from across the hall.

“Hey Potter! Potter, how’s your head? You feeling alright? Sure you’re not going to go berserk on us?” He waved a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ over his head and the other Slytherins snickered behind their copies.

“I just might on you, Malfoy,” Harry snapped. “I don’t know if ‘unable to shut his fat mouth’ is cause for provocation, but I bet the Wizengamot will make an exception in this case.” Harry turned back to Ron and grabbed the _Prophet_.

Though wrinkled from Ron’s attempt to crush it, and ink dripping in some places from Hermione’s pumpkin juice, Harry was still able to read the headline.

**Harry Potter: Disturbed and Dangerous**

The article went on to describe Harry’s most recent fainting spell, citing it as a frequent occurrence. She quoted a St. Mungo’s expert who said the pain in his scar was because his brain had been damaged by the curse Voldemort had given him, or perhaps, she suggested, Harry was just faking for attention. She further insulted Harry by exposing his ability to speak to snakes, courtesy of fellow Hogwarts student Draco Malfoy, and claimed that Parseltongue was a dark trick, something that no decent wizard would ever do. And yet, that wasn’t the worst of it.

Harry was, unfortunately, quite used to criticism. Rita Skeeter’s articles had been embarrassing and now they were downright rude, but he was used to rudeness. His peers oscillated between hating him and loving him at any given point in the year. He’d been accused of being the Heir of Slytherin, of cheating Hufflepuff out of glory in the Triwizard tournament, and none of that compared to what Rita Skeeter wrote next.

_“Anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants,” said a member of the Dark Force Defense League who wished to remain unnamed, “would appear to have a fondness for violence.” Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament._

Harry wouldn’t have cared so much if Rita had cited his duels with Malfoy as a sign of having a penchant for violence, or his aggressiveness on the Quidditch pitch, or even his successes in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He would have found the article annoying, a blight on the day of the third task, but he would have let it go and ignored Rita because he was good at ignoring criticism.

But to accuse him of violent tendencies because he was friends to a werewolf and a half-giant? It was such a low blow, such an insult to Remus and Hagrid who were two of the kindest, most caring people Harry had ever known. His hands shook as he set the paper down.

“How did she find out about his scar hurting?” Hermione asked, as she looked over the paper. 

“She couldn’t have been there in the tower,” said Ron, then he looked at Harry. “You alright?”

“Harry, you have to ignore her,” Hermione said, but her words went in one ear and out the other.

Harry abandoned his breakfast and got to his feet.

“Mate, let it go,” Ron said. He even grabbed Harry’s arm to hold him back, but Harry pulled away and reached into his robes for his wand.

“Malfoy!” he shouted across the Great Hall.

Harry didn’t care that teachers were watching. Harry didn’t care that there were students nearby. He didn’t care that he was doing exactly what Rita Skeeter had the audacity to accuse him of. He stalked towards Draco, the only person nearby he could blame for the article, with a tight grip on his wand.

Draco got his wand out too and said, “Going to curse me, Potter?” But Malfoy didn’t look as confident as he sounded. “Violent nutter--”

“Call me whatever you like!” Harry said. “I don’t bloody care what you say about me, but you talked to Rita Skeeter, and you’re the reason she said what she did about Remus and Hagrid! Do you think that’s funny, too? What did they ever do to you, you foul, dimwitted slug! They’re worth twice what you are--”

“Potter! Malfoy!” McGonagall’s voice rang across the hall.

Harry very reluctantly lowered his wand and turned towards her. She was stalking towards them from the entrance with fury in her eyes.

“There’s no need for wands at breakfast,” she snapped. “Put them away, and Potter, come with me.”

Harry tucked his wand into his robes. The Slytherin’s snickers followed Harry through the hall as he trailed along after McGonagall, head down. His ears burned both with embarrassment and fury.

“Three times,” she said as she started towards the teachers’ table. “That’s three times you’ve dueled Malfoy this year, Potter.” 

Harry found it difficult to keep up with her brisk pace. “We didn’t technically duel--”

“You’ve already been in detention twice, I’ve written to your parents, the next thing I can do is suspend you!”

“Did you read what was in the paper? Malfoy--”

“Did not write Rita Skeeter’s article for her, and you should know better by now than to rise to such sordid bait.” She stopped at the door to the room adjacent to the hall. “Your parents are here.”

“What? But you can’t suspend me! The final task is today! I can’t--”

“No, I’m not suspending you. Not today, at least. Champions’ parents are provided a special visit on the final day of the task. Didn’t they tell you?”

Harry had certainly known his parents were coming to the final task, but he hadn’t expected them to arrive so early in the day. The task wasn’t until evening. 

Harry pushed open the door. Inside, the other champions were already talking to their family. Fleur was there with her mother and sister, looking identical in every way save height, like a set of silvery nesting dolls. Fleur’s little sister, Gabrielle, waved at Harry. Harry smiled and waved back. Krum was with his parents, speaking more than Harry had heard him speak before, even to Hermione at the Yule Ball, in Bulgarian. They were speaking so quickly, Harry thought even if he did speak Bulgarian, he would still have trouble understanding them. He wondered if Krum ever felt that way about how quickly Hermione could speak English. Cedric was with his mother and father, and Harry got the strange impression that Amos Diggory gave him a cold stare as he walked in.

By the time Harry saw his parents, they were already halfway across the room and when they reached him embraced him in a tight hug.

“How are you?” Lily asked and tried to flatten down his hair.

Harry ducked away from her hand and grinned at her. He didn’t realize just how much he missed them, though he’d seen them at each task. “I’m alright,” he said. “You didn’t say you were coming so early.”

“Wanted to surprise you,” said James. “Ready for tonight?”

“I think so.”

His father squeezed his shoulder and grinned. “That’s my boy. Why don’t you walk us around? It’s been awhile since I’ve seen much other than the Quidditch pitch.”

“You did have the privilege of spending Christmas in Gryffindor Tower while I was teaching,” Lily reminded him.

James waved her off. “So we don’t have to see the Gryffindor common room, alright.”

Harry took his parents out on the grounds. It felt good to go outside again after having been shut up in the castle. He missed his broom.

They walked down along the Black Lake and Harry pointed out the Durmstrang ship to his parents. Then he took them down to the Beauxbatons carriage. James insisted on seeing Beauxbatons’s flying horses, so Harry walked them to the paddocks.

Lily looked oddly pensive as they walked. Her eyes kept looking over the edge of the woods, and when they reached the paddocks, she said, “Harry, you haven’t left the castle since what happened with Mr. Crouch, have you?”

“No,” Harry said, and it felt good to be able to answer honestly. “Really, I’ve been too busy to, anyway.”

James’s and Lily’s eyes met briefly, but nothing was said. Then James pointed at one of the horses. “Harry, you didn’t say how huge they were!”

“Well, they have to be big to pull Madame Maxime, don’t they?”

Lily let out a low breath and leaned against the fence. She held out her hand, but the horses ignored her. “They’re lovely,” she said. “I remember learning about them in Care of Magical Creatures. It made me want to move south. They’re common along the Mediterranean, you know.”

James laughed. “I always preferred the more dangerous lessons.”

“You would’ve loved Hagrid’s skrewts, then,” Harry said. “I’m happy we switched to unicorns instead. We got to pet a foal. Well, the girls did anyway. But it was still pretty cool.”

Even with the third task was looming ahead of them, it felt good to walk around the castle with his parents like this. It was as if everything was, finally, as it was supposed to be. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this content between his parents. Probably not since before Regulus Black had broken out of Azkaban. Everything had been so strange since then. Harry was so grateful for this moment with his parents. The only thing that could make it perfect was if Remus and Sirius were there too, but even that was okay, because Harry knew they’d be coming later to watch him in the final task.

They went back up to the castle for lunch, and Lily was, unsurprisingly, the center of attention. She had been a popular teacher, and the seventh years who had taken their O.W.L.s under her were eager to say hello and tell her how their N.E.W.T. exams had gone.

They sat with Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindors in Harry’s year. Hermione eagerly recounted everything she knew about the goblin rebellions they’d just had to describe for their History of Magic final. Ron admitted to making a few up, and Lily told him she’d had to do that in History of Magic once or twice, and surely it was fine.

After lunch, Ron and Hermione had their Charms final. Harry was never more grateful to be excused from finals than he was today, since he got to spend it wandering Hogwarts with his parents.

“Where to now?” he asked.

James picked up one of the goblets and looked at the Hogwarts crest raised out of the gold. “You know… I wouldn’t mind going down to the kitchens.”

“Students aren’t allowed in the kitchens,” Lily said, “and presumably guests aren’t either.”

James gave Lily a look, and though Harry often struggled to interpret his parents’ silent conversations, he had no trouble with this expression. It said: “I’m going to do this anyway, even if you tell me no.” Harry had seen it on James, Lily, Remus, and Sirius at several points in his childhood, and he was sure he’d even given it to his parents more than a few times.

Lily let out a sigh. “If we get caught--”

“I’ve been down there loads of times without getting caught,” Harry said.

This did not appear to encourage Lily. They started down the stairs and bumped into Cedric and his parents, who were on their way up.

“Oh, hello!” Cedric said. He smiled at Lily and extended his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Profes--er, Mrs. Potter.”

Lily shook his hand. “You’ve certainly sprouted. I remember you being a bit shorter than Harry is now, last I had you in class. You’ve performed very well in the tournament, congratulations.”

The tips of Cedric’s ears turned pink.

“Bet you’re not feeling quite as full of yourself now,” Amos Diggory said to Harry, “now that Cedric’s caught up to you in points.”

Harry was startled by the rudeness in Mr. Diggory’s voice, and at least Cedric had the sense to be embarrassed by it.

“Ignore him.” Cedric glanced hastily between Lily, Harry, and James. “He’s just upset about Rita’s article where she made out like you were the only Hogwarts champion. I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“Didn’t bother to correct her, did he?” grumbled Mr. Diggory.

James, uncharacteristically, said nothing, only nodded politely to Mrs. Diggory as the Diggorys passed them. 

Harry figured ignoring Mr. Diggory was something James considered to be the height of rudeness. Lily did not reproach him for it. She only reached out and squeezed James’s hand as they continued downstairs, more encouragement than scolding.

“I hope we don’t have to sit next to them,” James finally said.

“We won’t have to talk to them.”

“I mean… I don’t want Amos anywhere near Remus.”

Harry was glad they reached the portrait of fruit just then, because he did not want to think about the way people treated Remus, not with Rita Skeeter’s latest article still fresh in his mind. He hoped his parents hadn’t read the paper.

Harry reached up and tickled the pear. It turned solid in his hand, and he pulled open the portrait for his parents.

“I suppose,” Lily said, “if they didn’t want students down here, they shouldn’t have made it so easy to get in.”

James and Harry grinned.

The kitchen looked like chaos to the three newcomers. House-elves were running around everywhere, busy preparing for the evening feast before the end of the tournament. Several house elves stopped to say hello to James, which surprised Harry and scandalized Lily.

“Nearly twenty years later and they still remember you?” she said. “How often were you down here?”

“A lot,” James said with a shrug.

“But surely in seventh year--”

“Especially in seventh year. How was I supposed to pass my N.E.W.T.s without midnight snacks on top of Head Boy responsibilities? I studied down here loads. Where did you think I spent most my evenings I wasn’t with you?”

“I... assumed you didn’t study.”

Harry wasn’t sure he’d heard his father ever talk about studying. All it seemed James and Sirius ever did in school was get in trouble for pranks, or run around Hogsmeade and the forest on full moons, so he didn’t blame his mother for not knowing. He supposed that studying in the kitchens didn’t make for an exciting story to share with family and friends.

Dobby found Harry before Harry could find Dobby, and Harry was glad to formally introduce Dobby to his parents--Dobby, the house-elf who had tried to get Harry expelled from Hogwarts, who had injured him with a Bludger, the house-elf whom Harry had freed.

Picksie was not far behind Dobby, and she looked like she wanted to hug James as much as Dobby hugged Harry, but she held back and only bowed low to James and Lily.

“It’s an honor to be seeing Mr. and Mrs. Potters again,” she said, and Harry thought she might cry.

They didn’t stay long. Picksie and Dobby were busy getting ready for the evening feast. Picksie said that Mellie was fast asleep, but James should come visit another time. James, unable to tell her it was unlikely he’d return to Hogwarts in the near future, promised he would.

They went back upstairs and, not knowing where else to go, started towards the Entrance Hall. There, they ran into Dumbledore, with Bagman and Percy Weasley.

“What are you doing here, Percy?” It was only after it was out of his mouth that Harry realized it might sound rude.

Dumbledore smiled at the Potters. “Ah, how good to see you. Percy is kindly filling in for Mr. Crouch, since he is unfortunately… missing.”

“Terrible timing to run off,” Bagman said with a small smile. “But this lad’ll be great.” He clapped Percy on the shoulder, and Percy frowned at him. “How are you feeling, Harry? Ready for tonight?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Bagman nodded and smiled brightly. “Good lad. I’m off, then to hide the cup.” He winked at Harry, then looked at Percy. “Care to come with?”

“No, thank you.” Percy did not seem like the type to want to go anywhere alone with Bagman, and Harry honestly didn’t blame him.

“Well, alright.” Bagman shrugged his shoulders, and headed out onto the grounds.

“Have you enjoyed your tour of the castle?” Dumbledore asked, and Harry felt like Dumbledore knew they’d been down to the kitchens. How Dumbledore managed to have that twinkle in his eye that made it seem like he knew everything was beyond Harry. He hoped when he was older, he’d be able to master it, too.

“Of course,” Lily said, “though I wouldn’t mind taking a peek at what Moody’s done with my old office.”

“I’m afraid he’s rather personalized it,” Dumbledore said. “But shall we walk that way? I think he’d be quite pleased to see the two of you.”

Harry followed his parents and Dumbledore down the hallway. Percy Weasley, with nowhere else to go, tagged along.

“Are things bad at the Ministry right now?” Harry asked, quietly, hoping his parents were too engaged in their conversation with Dumbledore to listen.

“Well, it’s not easy with Mr. Crouch gone so suddenly, but I can manage his work just fine. Though I do wish he’d let me know he was going.”

“Is that what they’re saying happened? He just went on a sudden vacation?”

“Of course not. They’re running a proper investigation. They went to his house, but no one answered. The Minister personally came out here to check, er, your story. Nothing has turned up yet. I’m sure it will soon.”

Harry didn’t like the way Percy said, “your story.” It sounded to him like Percy had read Rita Skeeter’s article that morning and believed it. He bit down on his tongue to stop himself from fighting Percy. He didn’t need to get into any more trouble today. At least McGonagall hadn’t told his parents about his near-duel with Malfoy.

They reached Moody’s classroom as Moody was finishing administering the final exam for first years, which involved each of them attempting to disarm their professor. Moody was just bending over to pick up his wand.

“Good job, lass,” he said. “Once more, see if you can break my shield spell. Concentrate!”

The small girl screwed up her nose, raised her wand, and shouted her spell as loud as she could. The red spark hit Moody’s white shield. There was a sound like shattering glass so loud that Harry had to cover his ears. Moody’s wand went flying into the air, straight into Dumbledore’s hand.

“Well done,” Dumbledore said with a smile, and handed the wand back to Moody. “I think that’s quite deserving of a ‘O,’ is it not?”

The little girl’s eyes went wide as she looked up at the Headmaster. A hush fell over the entire class.

Moody frowned. “She didn’t knock me over. I was thinking an ‘A’ for Acceptable.”

“Honestly, a first year casting a Disarming Spell strong enough to break a Shield Charm?” Lily interrupted. “An ‘O,’ certainly.”

The little girl seemed to just see James and Lily, and her eyes seemed to pop out of her head at the sight of them. There were two boys just behind her whose mouths fell open without restraint.

“Alright, an ‘E’ then,” Moody growled. “Exceeds Expectations. Go on, then, all of you. Class is over. I certainly I hope I never see you lot again.”

The first years grabbed their bags and ran out of the room. The girl who had just passed her final paused in front of James and Lily. A boy stopped behind her and whispered something in her ear. She reached into her bag without breaking eye contact and thrust a roll of parchment at James and Lily. “CanIhaveanautograph?”

James smiled and took a quill from the boy. “Sure.” He signed it in two places and passed the paper to Lily. Then he knelt down and said, “Congratulations on such a powerful spell. I definitely would have given it an Outstanding.”

The girl still seemed starstruck as she took the quill and autograph from Lily and James. The boy took his quill back and then the parchment. “Wow, thanks!” he said, and ripped the parchment in two, taking his half of the autographs, and returning the other to the girl. “C’mon, we’ll be late for Charms.”

The girl reluctantly tore her eyes from James and Lily and the two ran down the hall, giggling to each other.

James straightened and shook Moody’s hand. They all exchanged greetings, and as Moody was finished with classes for the day, the group took a walk around the castle. 

“You don’t think you’re pushing those first years a little hard?” Lily asked.

“Oh, I think Alastor’s giving the students just the right amount of push,” said Dumbledore.

“That first year’s spell was pretty great,” said James. 

“What are you teaching your other students?” Lily asked.

Lily’s conversation about student curriculum bored Harry, and it wasn’t long before he tuned the adults out. Percy, however, seemed glad to have something to say to the grow-ups, and added in his two-cents about education standards and what the Ministry’s role in education ought to be.

Harry took more interest in the portraits as they walked. They seemed to be whispering to each other, and occasionally one would flit out of her frames and run ahead a couple of frames. Harry thought they were whispering to each other about Dumbledore, but then a portrait of a young witch pointed at James and giggled to her friend. Harry caught her friend’s response as he passed by.

“... remember him, but don’t you remember his friend? Now, that was a handsome lad.”

Harry wondered whether she was talking about Remus or Sirius. It was really hard to guess.

“You taught fourth years Unforgivables?” Lily said suddenly, in a tone that grabbed Harry’s attention, because it was the tone she used when he was in trouble.

“Someone’s got to tell them,” Moody said. “Wasn’t going to be you.”

“You didn’t use them on the students, did you?”

“Only Imperius.”

“How dare--”

“Mum,” Harry interrupted. He knew it was dangerous to throw himself between Lily and the object of her rage--he’d seen his father, Sirius, and Remus do it on occassion and they almost always regretted it--but he felt like he had to defend Moody. “It was a good lesson, actually. I can stand up to the Imperius Curse now.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.”

“But I might have to.”

No one spoke. The whispers of the portraits suddenly seemed very loud.

“I heard,” Dumbledore said, “that there would be banoffee pie at the feast tonight.”

“That is my favorite,” James said with a grin.

Harry noticed James’s hand reach for Lily’s, and though they continued an innocent conversation about desserts and recipes, James squeezed her hand like he was hanging on for dear life.

Though Harry was used to catching glimpses of those silent moments when his parents turned to each other for some desperately needed strength, he had never understood them. Now, with Trelawney’s prophecy looming over them, he felt like he had a better picture. That, however, made him wonder if his parents had always known Voldemort would return. Had they known, when he was eleven, and they told him about the night Voldemort had attacked? Had they known when the Chamber of Secrets was opened, and Harry faced a remnant of Voldemort?

How long had they known, or at least suspected, that Voldemort would return? Harry wanted to ask, but Dumbledore and James were arguing very heatedly about whether the best cherries for the perfect cherry pie were imported from Mahoukotoro in Japan, or if they were better with the sweeter cherries imported from a small magical village on the west side of the United States. Harry was, honestly, surprised his father knew enough about magical cherry farms to even have this debate with Dumbledore.

Maybe it wasn’t the right question to ask right before the third task, anyway. Harry stored it away for later. The summer seemed like a good time to have that conversation, once this tournament was over and done with.

They made their way to the Great Hall, where students were beginning to trickle in from their exams for the feast. Harry met Ron and Hermione at the door, and they told him they’d most likely passed Potions, and it was probably very lucky he was excused from finals, because Snape had been in an especially foul mood.

The feast was full of more courses than usual, nearly as large as a Halloween feast. Percy sat up at the teacher’s table with Dumbledore and the other judges, but James and Lily stayed with the students, as they had at lunch. Fred and George convinced James into teaming up with Lee Jordan in a game of finger-football across the table, using a pea as a ball. Lee and James won.

Bagman finally returned to the Great Hall looking a little dazed, but his face cleared when he saw the pudding. Harry wondered if Bagman had gotten lost. It was a rather long walk to the Quidditch Pitch.

Bagman grabbed several bites of food from the table, then leaned over to Dumbledore and said something Harry couldn’t hear from so far away.

Dumbledore nodded and stood. As soon as he did, the entire hall went quiet.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “the task will commence in fifteen minutes’ time, and I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now.”

Harry got up, but was pulled back down by a tight hug from Lily. He only barely escaped her hug when his father grabbed him and held him close, too.

“Good luck,” Lily said.

James smiled. “You’re not going to need it, though, Mr. ‘I’m immune to two out of three Unforgivables.’” And he winked.

Harry couldn’t help but grin as he and the other three champions exited the hall to loud cheers from every corner. It was hard to tell whether the Hufflepuff table or the Gryffindor table was loudest. It was, quite possibly, the first moment Harry felt glad to be a champion and proud to represent Hogwarts.

Mr. Bagman led the champions up to the Quidditch pitch with a bounce in his step. He was practically skipping up the hill. “You’ve got quite a challenge in store for you,” he said. “Yes, it should be a good one.”

They reached the Quidditch pitch and Harry stared in awe at the twenty-foot high hedges that grew around the edge of the field. The lone break in the shrubbery created a dark, fog-filled corridor that chilled Harry in his bones. He quickly ran through every spell he could remember, hoping he hadn’t forgotten anything he’d practiced with Ron and Hermione.

It wasn’t long before the crowds arrived and filled the stands. Harry looked up, searching for his parents, and there they were, with Sirius and Remus. He grinned and waved at them. They waved back, and so did the two redheads sitting next to them--Bill and Charlie Weasley.

“Who eez that with your family?” Fleur whispered to Harry. “The one with the long hair?”

“Uh, Bill or Sirius?”

“The one with ze jewelry.”

“Bill. Bill Weasley. He’s one of Ron’s brothers.”

Fleur hummed to herself, then seemed to turn on her charm. She tossed her hair, and her wave suddenly looked more graceful than before. The crowd cheered louder, but Harry noticed she was looking very intently at the two Weasleys.

Hagrid, McGonagall, Moody, and Flitwick walked onto the pitch. Each of the professors were wearing bright red stars that glowed on their hats; Hagrid’s was on the back of his vest. Harry was reminded of the Muggle police sirens he’d seen once in the city with Sirius.

“We’ll be patrolling the outside of the maze,” Professor McGonagall said to them. “If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you. Do you understand?”

All four champions nodded.

The four teachers went to their stations along the edge of the maze and Bagman turned to the crowd. He pressed his wand to his throat and said in his magically magnified voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each, Mr. Cedric Diggory and Mr. Harry Potter, both of Hogwarts School!” He had to pause for the crowd to cheer. “In second place, with eighty points, Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute! And in third place, Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy! And so, on my whistle, Harry and Cedric! Three… two… one!”

Cedric and Harry bolted into the maze at the sound of Bagman’s shrill whistle. 

The path into the hedges was dark, and both boys had to get their wands out and cast a Wand-lighting Charm. In another twenty-five meters, there was a fork in the road. Harry went right, Cedric went left.

A few minutes went by and Harry heard the second whistle. Viktor Krum had entered the maze. Harry kept walking, even raised his wand higher for more light, but there was nothing, nothing but hedges and darkness. He had the odd feeling he was being watched, but every time he turned around, there was nothing there. An old horror story Sirius had once told him about an American magical creature that could contort itself into any shape for perfect concealment came to him, but one had never been seen in Britain. Couldn’t they have imported it for the game?

Harry tried to remember how the story had ended, wondering if there was a spell he would need to know to defeat it. But if it was one of Sirius’s horror stories, it had probably ended with the lead character dying. Had Remus been there to offer a proper solution? Harry couldn’t remember.

Harry did remember his father writing to tell him the best way out of a maze was to always turn left, but Harry didn’t want out, he wanted to reach the center. He used the Four-Point Spell his mother had written to him, which helped him figure out the best way to go northwest, since that’s where the center of the Quidditch pitch ought to be.

A third whistle sounded. All the champions were in the maze.

Harry took a few lefts and a right to keep himself going in about the right direction, but he didn’t run into any obstacles. That might have been more unnerving than running into something. He wondered if he was so far off target, there wasn’t even anything nearby to guard the cup. He came to a place where the path split into three, and wondered if maybe he should turn around and go back.

Before he could make a decision, Cedric crossed into his path, clothes smoking.

“Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts,” he hissed. “They’re enormous--I only just got away.” And he hurried down the opposite path. Harry was not keen to meet a Blast-Ended Skrewt, but he also wasn’t keen on fighting Cedric, so he continued straight. 

It turned sharply in another fifteen meters, and when Harry’s wand fell onto the path, he saw a dementor approach him, robes brushing along the floor and making no sound. Its bony hand stretched out towards Harry.

Though Harry felt the cold effect of the dementor draining his happy memories, Harry did not feel fear. He knew how to face a dementor thanks to Remus’s excellent teaching. Harry raised his wand confidently and shouted, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” thinking of the end of this tournament, when he was safe with his family and friends, celebrating a Hogwarts victory. Whether it was his victory or Cedric’s didn’t matter.

A silver stag shot out of his wand and galloped at the dementor. But instead of flying away, the dementor stumbled backwards and tripped over the hem of its robes. Harry had never seen a dementor stumble--he wasn’t even sure they had legs.

This was a Boggart.

“ _Riddikulus!_ ” Harry said without hesitation, because Remus had successfully taught him that as well.

The shape-shifting creature exploded in a wisp of black smoke. The silver stag galloped off into the maze. Harry wished it would stay, but he the energy it would require to sustain that Patronus would be too much. He didn’t know what else would be ahead of him.

Harry kept walking, using the Four-Point Spell as his guide. He met several dead ends, but no monsters. Then he found the mist.

It didn’t look particularly dangerous. It was a golden cloud, hovering in the pathway. Gold wasn’t exactly a bad color, but something nagged at his memory, warning him that this was not a safe way to go.

First he tried, “ _Reducto!_ ” but the spell passed through the mist without effect. Harry looked back. Maybe there was a way around the golden mist. Maybe if he took a right somewhere instead of a left--

A scream forced Harry to look back at the golden mist. It had come from just the other side. Had something happened to Fleur? Harry knew he had to go forward and make sure she was alright.

Harry adjusted his grip on his wand, took a deep breath, and stepped forward into the mist. Immediately, the world turned upside down. His glasses slipped off of his nose and Harry grabbed them before they could fall. His feet were still rooted to the ground, his robes were hanging over his head. He had the horrible feeling that if he lifted a foot, he would fall. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at how far the fall was.

With all the blood rushing to his head, Harry remembered why the gold mist had seemed so ominous. Another of Sirius’s horror stories, about a jeweled box an innocent wizard’s attic. This hapless wizard had opened the box and his world had been turned upside down.

“What happened to him?” Harry had asked.

“Nothing,” Sirius had grinned, and tossed a chirping marshmallow at Harry.

Harry did his best to clear his head, and, with every ounce of willpower he had, pulled his foot away from the grass above him.

The world went upright, and Harry tumbled into the grass. He struggled to catch his breath and looked back at the mist. It was still glittering, looking as innocent as ever. Harry took in another shaky breath and hurried on, wondering where Fleur was.

He reached a junction and held his wand light down each of them, searching for some sign of her. He didn’t see anything--no, there was something in the hedge in front of him, something slightly pink?

Harry ran forward, but he realized it wasn’t Fleur. It looked like a house-elf, but before Harry could get close enough, it disappeared into the bushes. Had Picksie come to watch him? Or, Merlin forbid, Dobby come to help?

Harry had had enough of Dobby’s help to know he didn’t want Dobby helping him out in the maze at all. So Harry turned back and took the left fork.

Harry heard another scream and rushed forward, but he met a dead end. He hoped Fleur was alright on the other side, but at the same time, if she was out of the game, that was one less champion he was competing with.

Harry turned back, tried another path, but met another dead end. Harry tried his Four-Point spell again and chose the best path he could. It was getting darker, and Harry hoped that meant he was getting closer. There was no real way to know, though.

After another dead end and another Four-Point Spell, and a very frustrated but futile Reductor Curse aimed at a hedge, Harry ran into another obstacle.

A large, golden lion with the head of a woman sat, blocking the path in front of him. Harry stared at her, awed at first, because he had never seen one in real life, and had never expected to see one.

“You’re a sphinx, aren’t you?” he said.

She didn’t answer his question. She said, “You are very near your goal. The quickest way is past me.”

“Great,” Harry said, “uh, would you mind moving, then?”

“Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess, I let you pass. Answer wrongly, I attack. Remain silent, and I will let you walk away from me unscathed.”

Harry wasn’t too confident about facing her, but if she was telling the truth, and he was near the center of the maze, there might not be another way around her. Worst case, he could turn and walk away.

“Okay, can I hear the riddle?”

“ _First think of the person who lives in disguise,  
Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.  
Next, tell me what’s always the last thing to mend,  
The middle of middle and end of end?  
And finally give me the sound often heard  
During the search for a hard to find word.  
Now string them together and answer me this,  
Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?_”

Harry frowned and ran his hand through his hair. He had done several riddles with his father--James loved them, and often teased Lily with them. Though his mother was clever and sometimes knew the answer before James had even finished. James had taught several to Harry, but Harry had never heard this one before.

He searched for the pun or wordplay in the first couplet, repeating the rhyme to himself, but he found none. The second couplet was easier: the end of end and middle of middle had to be “d” which was also the last letter of mend. The third couplet, again, was tricky. Harry wracked his brain for the answer to the riddle. All of it added up to a creature he didn’t want to kiss? He could start that list with a sphinx, but that didn’t have a “d in it. Dementor did, but the “d” was at the beginning.

“Er… creature unwilling to kiss…” Harry ran his hand through his hair again. “Secrets and lies… a liar? Er, no, too easy.” He started to pace. He wondered if he should just walk away, but no he felt sure he could figure this out. “Er… lives in disguise, like, a spy? Spied… A hard to find word, er… Er! Er! Spy… d… er--Spider! It’s ‘spider!’”

Harry didn’t even consider the possibility he was wrong until the sphinx stood. But instead of pouncing she stepped aside.

“Thanks,” Harry said, and rushed passed her. He was close. The sphinx had said so. Harry increased his pace to a run. He hit a branching out of five paths. Harry used his Four-Point Spell to take the northwesterly path, and it wasn’t long before he could see the glittering cup in the center of the maze. He put on extra burst of speed, but a clicking noise behind him gave him pause. He looked left and he saw Cedric come out of an adjacent path, also running. Cedric was probably going to beat him, except--

“Cedric, on your left!” Harry shouted.

An acromantula hurtled towards Cedric, who turned just in time to avoid the poisonous fangs, but the spider’s leg knocked him over. He rolled in the grass, stopping only when he hit the dense bush.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” Harry shouted at the spider, but the curse bounced harmlessly off the spider. “ _Impedimenta!_ ” but it continued to approach him.

The acromantula lifted Harry into the air in its front legs, drawing him closer to its mouth. Harry kicked at the pincer and his leg slipped along the smooth fang, and he felt warm blood soak into his jeans. The acromantula didn’t react in the least. Harry tried a third spell--” _Expelliarmus!_ ”--and this time the spider dropped him. Harry landed on his hurt leg and he heard the bone snap beneath him.

Cedric was finally back on his feet and cast a Stunning Spell at the monster, but like Harry’s, it did nothing other than draw the spider’s attention.

Harry tried to remember how Lily had faced the cluster of acromantula in the Forbidden Forest two years ago. She’d lit things on fire, but Harry couldn’t remember if she’d used an incantation, or what the incantation might be.

“ _Confringo_!” Harry shouted. A small explosion knocked the spider over, and its underbelly smoked. The spider rolled over in pain and shrieked, but it only seemed to get angrier. It got up on its legs and started towards Harry.

“ _Incendio!_ ” Cedric shouted, catching onto the idea of fire. His spell started a small fire in the hedges and kept the spider at bay.

He ran over to help Harry up. Together they limped away from the growing fire.

“Are you alright?” Cedric asked.

Harry put pressure on his injured leg. He winced and quickly put all his weight on his right leg. “I think it’s broken.” He looked up at the cup. “Well, go on, take it. Might as well end this.”

Cedric looked up at the glowing trophy. Then he looked back at Harry, who wobbled, and Cedric held him up so he wouldn’t fall over.

“You’ve won,” Harry said, hopping away from Cedric and using a bush for support.

“That spider would’ve got me if you hadn’t seen it.”

“So?”

“And you told me about the dragons.”

“You told me about the egg.”

“I had help.”

“We all had help! Quit being so--so noble, and take the cup!”

Cedric shook his head. “You deserve it. You didn’t ask to be in this tournament to begin with. And I… I haven’t been the best sport.”

Harry didn’t know if it was possible to roll his eyes hard enough for them to pop out of his head, but he thought he might come close right now. “Cedric,” he said through gritted teeth, “if you don’t take the cup right now, I’m going to shoot red sparks from my wand and disqualify myself. I would really like to get Madam Pomfrey to fix my leg.”

“Together,” Cedric said. “We take the cup together. For Hogwarts.”

Harry blinked at Cedric. “Okay.”

Cedric let Harry lean on him, and together they hobbled towards the cup.

“On three,” Cedric said. “One… two… three--”

Harry and Cedric each grabbed a handle of the Triwizard Cup, and something jerked at Harry’s navel, pulling him and Cedric forward as the world swirled around them and vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, headcanons, and cakes all encouraged.


	32. Flesh, Blood, and Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very short, so have two, because I love you.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta, ageofzero, who is possibly the most wonderful human being on the planet, and a special shout out to duneekah, who so patiently endures my drunk crying on her kitchen counter about how much James and Lily ruin every gd plotline in Order of the Phoenix.

Harry’s feet found solid ground and his broken leg buckled beneath him. He pushed himself up and found a stone to help support his weight. Upon further examination, Harry realized it wasn’t just a stone, but a headstone.

“Where are we?” he asked. Harry looked out over the hills, dotted with gravestones and statues. A lone house stood in the distance, a newer looking Muggle mansion with white columns and wide windows, but Harry couldn’t determine anything about who lived there from this distance.

“Did anyone tell you the cup was a portkey?” asked Cedric.

Harry shook his head. “Is this supposed to be part of the task?”

“I dunno. Wands out, d’you reckon?”

Harry nodded and pulled his wand from his robes. Cedric held his wand in his left hand so he could support Harry without forcing Harry to drop his wand or use his weaker hand.

“You don’t have to--”

“It’s alright. Come on, let’s see what we can find. We probably shouldn’t stray too far from the cup--”

“Sh, someone’s coming.”

On the crest of the hill above them, Harry saw a tall, thin figure in a hooded robe coming towards them. It was carrying something in its arms, like a baby. Harry didn’t know if they should ask the figure for help or stun it now. 

The cloaked figure reached the bottom of the hill, still several feet away from Harry and Cedric. It knelt at the foot of a grave and set its bundle down.

Harry was just about to shout at them when his scar exploded with pain. Even though Cedric was helping him stand, Harry fell into the grass, hand clutching his forehead.

A thin, reedy voice, identical to the one in Harry’s nightmares, hissed through the air, “Kill the spare!”

The cloaked figure pulled a wand from his robes and pointed it at Harry and Cedric. “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

There was a bright green light. Harry thought he heard Cedric utter half a spell, but he couldn’t be sure. His scar was burning more than he’d ever thought it could. Harry was afraid his skull would literally burst. He screamed and retched from the pain. 

Someone grabbed the collar of Harry’s robe and dragged him forward. Harry struggled, tried to remember curses through the pain in his forehead, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t have his wand. 

Harry looked up and saw the name on the headstone--”Tom Riddle”--before he was thrown against it. His jaw scraped the stone, then his shoulder was grabbed and he was flipped over. Harry tried to scramble to his feet, to run away, but his leg protested with pain.

The tall figure waved its wand and ropes were conjured, binding Harry to the headstone. Harry struggled, screaming the whole while, thinking someone must be nearby to hear him. But the cloaked wizard took a black cloth and shoved it into Harry’s mouth. 

Harry still struggled against his bindings, though his voice was no longer useful. He looked for his wand, but it was lying at Cedric’s feet. Cedric…

Cedric was sprawled in the grass a few meters away, eyes closed, face slack. His wand was still in his left hand, but there was no tension in his fingers.

Harry screamed and struggled again. He knew on some level that his efforts were futile, but he also knew that he had to keep fighting, that whatever was coming was going to be worse than he could imagine.

He didn’t know where the cloaked figure had gone, but the bundle at Harry’s feet began to stir, and Harry’s stomach twisted with revulsion. His scar throbbed with pain, and Harry had the feeling he did not want to know what was in that bundle. He tried to kick it with his good leg, thinking maybe he could kill it now from where he was bound, but it was just out of reach.

Something flicked against his arm, and he startled. He looked down and saw a snake slither over his lap and up the headstone. Harry was paralyzed. She flicked her tongue out at him and hissed, but Harry was too panicked to know what she said. He had to be in a calm state of mind to understand Parseltongue naturally, and he was not anywhere near a calm state of mind.

There was a loud scraping noise, and the cloaked man came back into view, dragging a large black cauldron, large enough for someone to sit in. If Harry had been ten, it would have been the perfect hide-and-seek hiding space, except he would have struggled to get out of it. Harry could hear something sloshing around inside. The figure knelt down and lit a fire beneath it.

“Hurry,” the bundle hissed and Harry’s scar throbbed.

He screamed again and tried to kick the bundle. Even though he still couldn’t reach, the figure hit him across the face so hard, Harry tasted blood, even as the gag in his mouth soaked it up.

The cauldron began to spark. Harry hoped that was a bad sign. It bubbled red and then turned darker, and darker, until it was nearly black, but the top still glittered with sparks, like diamonds dancing atop a pit of tar.

“It is ready, Master,” the cloaked man said, and Harry recognized his voice, also from his dreams.

Barty Crouch, Jr. knelt down and unwrapped the bundle at Harry’s feet. What he pulled out was the most hideous creature Harry had ever seen. It was like a flobberworm and a Blast-Ended Skrewt had had a litter of disgusting cross-bred larvae and someone had tried to drown them in blood, but this one had managed to survive. Its skin was dark and scaly, but it was covered in slime, with a hideous, flat, snakelike head, and long spindly arms that reached up and held onto Barty’s cloak. It was helpless, like a baby, but a disgusting baby. Barty dropped the thing into the cauldron.

Harry’s scar burned too much for real thought, but he knew he didn’t want that thing to survive. He hoped it drowned in that cauldron, that whatever was supposed to happen wasn’t going to happen.

But if the thing did drown, Barty didn’t seem to notice. Barty raised his wand and said, _“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son.”_

The ground beneath Harry cracked, and from it, bits of dust and ash floated up into the air and into the cauldron. The potion sparked and turned a luminescent blue. The unnatural glow provided an eerie light to Barty’s cloaked face as he reached into his robes and pulled out a silver knife. 

_“Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master,”_ he said, and Harry watched as Barty extended his right hand. Harry realized what Barty meant to do and squeezed his eyes closed. He heard Barty’s gasps and restrained cries of pain, he heard the sound of the dagger cutting through flesh. Something fell to the ground, and then there was a splash. Though Harry’s eyes were closed, he knew it had turned red, because the light of it burned against his eyes.

Harry risked opening his eyes and was surprised to see Barty Crouch, Jr., right in front of him. 

_“Blood of the enemy…”_ he panted, _“forcibly taken, you... will resurrect your foe”_

Harry struggled against the bonds but it was useless. Barty pressed the silver knife into the crook of Harry’s arm and dragged the blade down Harry’s skin. There was no pain, not that Harry could feel. His scar was taking up all of his brain’s ability to process pain, and there was no room for a cut on his arm, or even for his broken leg. 

Barty collected Harry’s blood and dropped it into the caudron. There was a blinding flash of white light, and Barty sank to his knees. His hood fell back, and in the brightness, Harry saw a look of pure rapture on Barty’s face, despite the bloody stump he had in place of his hand. Harry’s stomach tried to claw its way up his throat.

The white cauldron exploded, sparks flying everywhere like a firework had gone off. Harry hoped desperately that meant everything had gone wrong. White steam began to rise from the ground, obscuring Barty from Harry’s vision. All Harry could see now was the figure of a man rising out of the steam.

“No,” he thought desperately. “No.”

“Robe me,” the figure said.

Barty rose and draped the cloaks that had once concealed the hideous bundle over the new body the potion had produced. The steam cleared and Harry saw clearly a man who was still very clearly a man, but held traces of that hideous baby. He was still thin, spindly, but tall, and he did not look weak at all. His nose was still flat, slit like a snakes, and his eyes were bright red.

This was the face from the nightmares that had haunted Harry since he had started at Hogwarts, since he’d first heard the story of what had truly happened to his parents all those years ago in Godric’s Hollow, when Lord Voldemort had been defeated.

And now, this was not a nightmare. This was the flesh. Voldemort had risen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, headcanons, and fears/suspicions always appreciated!


	33. The Death Eaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort summons his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part two~. It LOOKS really similar, but there are some important details changed. I mean, I did copy-past Voldemort's speech and edit out Wormtail, but really, there are some important differences. So don't rush through it TOO quickly.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta, ageofzero, for helping me sort through Voldemort's monologuing, as awful as it is.

Voldemort took a long moment to examine his body. He held his hands out in front of his large red eyes and examined his spindly fingers. He felt along his face, like he was checking to make sure everything was still in place, as it ought to be. Harry waited anxiously for something to be wrong, or to wake up, or to somehow find this was part of the task, a nightmare conjured by some threat in the maze.

But none of those things were true, and Harry knew it.

Voldemort reached a slender hand into his robes and pulled out his wand. He searched, as if looking for some sort of victim to practice his magic on. He took no notice of Barty, crouched at his feet, clutching at a bloody stump. His red eyes drifted lazily over Harry and the snake that had once again begun slithering around Harry. Finally, he stopped at Cedric’s body. He pointed his wand and lifted Cedric’s body into the air, then threw it against one of the nearby headstones.

Harry struggled against the ropes that bound him to Tom Riddle’s headstone. He wished for his wand, for a way to get to Cedric, for a way out of here. The cup, however, was far away, and even if Harry could get free, he couldn’t run there on a broken leg.

Voldemort laughed, the same high, cold, mirthless laugh from Harry’s nightmares.

“Barty Crouch,” Voldemort said, slowly, like he was testing the way his mouth worked. 

“My Lord,” Barty breathed.

“Hold out your arm.”

Overcome with rapture, Barty extended not his bleeding right arm to Voldemort, but instead the left arm. With the tip of his wand, Voldemort lifted Barty’s sleeve and pushed it back, revealing a bright red tattoo, a sort of brand, of the same glittering Dark Mark Harry had seen in the sky nine months ago, the skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth.

“It is back,” Voldemort said. “They will all have noticed it… and now, we shall see… now we shall know… How many of your brothers and sisters will be brave enough to return when they feel it?” Voldemort pressed his wand into the skull.

Barty choked on a cry, and so did Harry, as his scar burned with fresh pain.

“And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?” Voldemort began to pace in front of Harry. He seemed keen on moving his new body, though he wasn’t interested in moving it very quickly. He seemed more curious about its range of motion than its agility. He kept brushing his fingers along his wand, examining its intricacies.

He paused after a moment and smiled down at Harry. It was not kind, friendly, or even particularly happy. It was cruel and distorted an already distorted face.

“You, Harry Potter, rest on the remains of my late father. A Muggle and a fool… very like your dear mother. But I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself in death….”

Voldemort stretched his arms out and tipped his head back. “He didn’t like magic, my father… he left my mother, a witch who lived here in this village. She died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage… but I vowed to find him. I revenged myself upon him, that fool, who gave me his name…. Tom Riddle….”

Voldemort resumed his pacing, red eyes flickering across the graves, and occasionally to Harry’s scar. “Listen to me, reliving family history. Terrible fathers with terrible names, something Barty and I have in common….”

Voldemort paused in front of Barty Crouch, Jr. The expression he had was not fondness as he looked down at the thin young man, but it was… something. 

Then Voldemort looked up at the graveyard. “Ah, look, Harry! My true family returns.”

There were cracks, so many, in such quick succession, Harry was reminded of lightning. Then there was only the swishing of cloaks as the wizards approached, all hooded and masked, as they had been at the Quidditch World Cup. They were cautious as they approached, none of them seeming to have quite the same devotion as Barty Crouch did.

Until one fell to his knees, crawled forward, and kissed the edge of Voldemort’s robes. Each of the newcomers followed suit, and when they had all finished their moment of reverence, formed a ring around Voldemort. But there were gaps, as if some were expected who had not arrived. Voldemort paced around the circle, inspecting every filled and empty space. 

“Welcome, Death Eaters,” he said. “Thirteen years… thirteen years since we last met, yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?” Voldemort tipped his head back and with his snakelike nose sniffed the air. “I smell guilt. I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact--such prompt appearances!--and I ask myself… why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?”

Barty was searching the circle desperately. Harry wondered who or what he was looking for. No one else moved, except Voldemort, who paced among his Death Eaters.

“And I answer myself,” Voldemort continued, “they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment. And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living? And I answer myself again, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort… perhaps they now pay allegiance to another… perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?”

This alone elicited a reaction from the Death Eaters. Some of them shook their heads, murmuring protests. One Death Eater collapsed at Voldemort’s feet. 

“Master! Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!”

Harry saw the man’s mistake before the man did. Voldemort raised his wand and there was a red spark. The Death Eater writhed in pain and screamed.

Harry prayed desperately the screams would be heard and someone would come. But if this was a Muggle village, what could a Muggle do against the most powerful Dark wizard in the world, and thirty of his followers?

Voldemort raised his wand again, and the curse ended.

“Get up, Avery. Stand. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years… I want thirteen years’ repayment before I forgive you. Barty here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Barty?”

“My Lord, I never left your service,” Barty gasped. “I never renounced you.”

“You did return to me out of loyalty. You escaped Azkaban and watched, waited, listened. You found me, and helped return me to my body. You have made your mistakes, but you have helped me, and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers.” Voldemort raised his wand and waved it through the air, creating a silver liquid, like molten iron that twisted with the movements of his wand until it was a human hand. Voldemort lowered his wand, and the metallic hand attached itself to Barty Crouch’s wrist.

“My Lord,” he whispered, and kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes, “thank you, Master, thank you.”

Voldemort turned back to the circle. He paced, searching for something in each of them. Harry wondered what he was looking for if they were all wearing masks, or how Voldemort could tell them apart.

Voldemort stopped before one Death Eater, who trembled slightly.

“Lucius, my slippery friend,” he said. “I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius…. Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay… but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?”

“My Lord, I was constantly on the alert,” Lucius Malfoy said. “Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me.”

“And yet you ran from my mark, when my faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer? Yes, I know all about that, Lucius. You have disappointed me. I expect more faithful service in the future.”

“Of course, My Lord, of course… You are merciful, thank you.”

Voldemort moved away from Lucius, stopping at an empty space to Malfoy’s left, enough for three Death Eaters. “The Lestranges should stand here, but they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me. When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honored beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us… they are our natural allies… we will recall the banished giants… I shall have all my devoted servants return to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear.”

Voldemort continued along the edge of the circle. He passed a few, but spoke to some.

“Macnair… destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Barty tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide…. And here we have Crabbe… you will do better this time, will you, Crabbe, and you, Goyle.… The same goes for you, Nott….”

Voldemort paused at the largest gap of all. “And here we have six missing Death Eaters. Three dead in my service…. One, who was too cowardly to answer my call, and he has already paid for his disloyalty. One who I believe has left me forever… he will be killed of course…. and one, dead for betraying me.”

There was a weight in the air as Voldemort let it sink in for all his Death Eaters that disloyalty inevitably lead to death.

Then he turned to the last Death Eater. “And one,” he said in a very soft voice, “who seems to have returned from the dead like myself. Regulus Arcturus Black, isn’t this surprising.” 

There were a few murmurs among the other Death Eaters. Some shuffled uncomfortable as Voldemort stared intently at Regulus Black. Harry felt his stomach turn as he realized that Regulus Black truly had returned to Voldemort. All their faith in him had been for nothing….

Barty Crouch stepped forward. “Reg--I knew you’d come back if he called, I knew--”

Harry saw an expression of pure rage flicker across Voldemort’s face. His scar burned. At the same time, Regulus drew his wand.

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

There was a flash of green light and Barty Crouch slumped to the ground.

Regulus Black opened his mouth to cast another spell, but Voldemort was quicker. He waved his wand and Regulus’s flew from his hand. Before Regulus could turn and run, he was thrown into a headstone. 

“I did not want to believe the rumors,” Voldemort said. “I did not want to believe the rumors that the Black princeling had abandoned his master and his cause. I did not want to believe he had become as much of a failure as his brother…. But sometimes the truth is a hard thing to accept. _Crucio_!”

Regulus screamed and writhed on the ground. Harry couldn’t bear to watch. For a full minute, Voldemort let Regulus’s screams fill the graveyard while the other Death Eaters watched, too entranced or too paralyzed to move.

He waved his wand and the only sound was of Regulus’s heavy breathing.

“Was... that it?” Regulus asked, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. “My mother could do better, and she’s dead--”

“ _Crucio_!”

Regulus screamed again. Another minute passed, or perhaps it was longer, before Voldemort ended the spell. 

“You abandoned me… you have killed my most faithful servant… you--”

“You don’t know the half of what I’ve done.” Regulus sat up and leaned against the headstone. He grinned crookedly at Voldemort, an expression that looked shockingly like Sirius. “I’ve got my hands on something I think you’ll miss. And if you kill me now, you’ll never know which.”

“ _Crucio_!”

Regulus screamed again. Harry’s scar burned and he screamed, too. This time, Voldemort did not let up after a minute, nor after two minutes. It seemed to drag on for an eternity. The pain in Harry’s scar lasted as long as Regulus suffered the Cruciatus Curse.

Finally, _finally_ , when Voldemort’s anger had abated, the pain in Harry’s scar dulled. Voldemort waved his wand and the curse ended. 

Regulus’s breaths no longer came in heavy pants. Harry wasn’t even sure Regulus was breathing, and his body still trembled with the memory of the curse.

“Do you think,” Voldemort began slowly, “that you have even an inkling of how to kill me? I have made it impossible. Even Harry Potter did not defeat me!”

Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry, and Harry tensed, waiting for the curse, but it never came. When he opened his eyes again, Voldemort had left Regulus and was pacing the group again. He stopped in front of Harry, and there was so much rage in his face that Harry’s scar burned, but Harry bit down on the gag and resisted the urge to cry out this time.

“You know, of course, that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. Peter Pettigrew,” he spat the name, “stood between me and the Potters, unwittingly providing them with a protection I did not foresee. James and Lily Potter defied me as well, and so… I could not touch the boy….”

Voldemort raised his hand and let his long, bony finger hover above Harry’s scar. “Pettigrew’s sacrifice, his mother and father’s love… It was old magic, I should have remembered it. I was foolish to overlook it, but no matter. I can touch him now.”

The tip of Voldemort’s finger pressed into Harry’s scar, and instead of Voldemort burning up as he had done three years ago when he tried to touch Harry, Harry’s scar exploded in pain. Voldemort laughed and returned to pacing before his Death Eaters.

“I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by that foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah... pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost… but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know… I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal—to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked… for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself… for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand… I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist…. I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited…. Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me… one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body… but I waited in vain….” 

Voldemort paused here, eyeing each Death Eater in turn. None of them stepped forward. No one dared admit their cowardice.

“Only one power remained to me,” Voldemort continued. “I could possess the bodies of others. But I dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were still abroad and searching for me. I sometimes inhabited animals—snakes, of course, being my preference—but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill adapted to perform magic… and my possession of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long…. Then… four years ago… the means for my return seemed assured. A wizard—young, foolish, and gullible—wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home. Oh, he seemed the very chance I had been dreaming of… for he was a teacher at Dumbledore’s school… he was easy to bend to my will… he brought me back to this country, and after a while, I took possession of his body, to supervise him closely as he carried out my orders. But my plan failed. I did not manage to steal the Sorcerer’s Stone. I was not to be assured immortal life. I was thwarted… thwarted, once again, by Harry Potter…. The servant died when I left his body, and I was left as weak as ever I had been, I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you that I didn’t then fear that I might never regain my powers…. Yes, that was perhaps my darkest hour… I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess… and I had given up hope, now, that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me…. And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last, a servant returned to me. Barty Crouch, Jr., escaped from Azkaban and waited for whispers of my return. He watched Harry Potter, patiently, for thirteen long years.” Voldemort stopped at Barty Crouch’s body. “And when he was driven away, fearing discovery, for in Azkaban he would be useless to his master, he sought me out. He listened to the rumors, and found, quite by accident, Bertha Jorkins, a witch from the Ministry of Magic. He brought her to me, and she proved instead to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams… for—with a little persuasion—she became a veritable mine of information. She told me that the Triwizard Tournament would be played at Hogwarts this year…. And when I had extracted all useful information from her, her mind and body were both damaged beyond repair. She had now served her purpose. I could not possess her. Barty Crouch was ordered to kill her, but he failed, and she managed to escape. It was lucky he found her, for she made it all the way to the Quidditch World Cup, nearly to the Minister of Magic, before Barty found her…. But Barty repaired his mistake. While he did that, I found another able-bodied servant, one who had left my service. But fool though he was to leave me, I was able to force him to follow my instructions, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth… a spell or two of my own invention… a little help from my dear Nagini,” Voldemort’s red eyes fell upon the continually circling snake, “a potion concocted from unicorn blood, and the snake venom Nagini provided… I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel. For his cowardice, of course, Igor Karkaroff had to die.

“Immortality seemed a lofty goal in such a frail state. For the time, I would settle for my old body back again, and my old strength. I knew that to achieve this — it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight—I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand... Flesh given by a servant. What loyalty this child showed me, only to die at the hand of a close friend and traitor.” Harry’s scar burned as Voldemort’s eyes passed over Regulus. “My father’s bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a foe…. Barty would have had me use any wizard, so impatient he was for my return…. But I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Harry Potter’s blood.” Now Voldemort looked at Harry, this time not with rage but with a cruel smile. “I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of power thirteen years ago…. But how to get at Harry Potter? For he has been better protected than I think even he knows…. Then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup…. I thought his protection might be weaker there, away from his home and Dumbledore, but I was not yet strong enough to attempt kidnap in the midst of a horde of Ministry wizards. And then, the boy would return to Hogwarts, where he is under the crooked nose of that Muggle-loving fool from morning until night. So how could I take him? Why…. by using Bertha Jorkins’s information, of course. Using Barty, my one faithful Death Eater, who willingly risked discovery by being stationed at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore’s nose, under the nose of the Ministry itself, to ensure that the boy’s name was entered into the Goblet of Fire… to ensure that the boy won the tournament—that he touched the Triwizard Cup first—the cup which he had turned into a Portkey, which would bring him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore’s help and protection, and into my waiting arms. And here he is… the boy you all believed had been my downfall….” 

Voldemort stopped before Harry. He raised his wand. “ _Crucio_!”

Harry didn’t know he could feel pain worse than what he’d already been through. He screamed and writhed against the headstone and his bonds. It was as if his very bones were burning, and his scar threatened to split his head in two. He was faintly aware of bruising from fighting against ropes and stone, but that sensation was nothing compared to the fire that raged through his insides, through the very core of his being. Surely death would be better than this… surely he would die soon, his body would give up, surely it would be over…. 

And then the pain was gone, and Harry’s body hung limp against the ropes. He didn’t know if his body would ever move again. His ears were filled with a high-pitched whine, but somehow, through that, he was able to hear the Death Eaters laughing at him. His vision was blurred, yet he could still see Voldemort standing over him with a cruel smile.

“You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me. But I want there to be no mistake in anybody’s mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no one to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger.”

The snake glided forward and her tongue flicked over Voldemort’s feet.

“Just a little longer, Nagini,” he whispered, and she slithered away into the grass. “Now untie him, Lucius, and give him back his wand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments, headcanons, and concerns greatly appreciated.


	34. Priori Incantatem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry duels the Dark Lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FUCKED UP IM SO SORRY....
> 
> I posted chapter thirty-five instead of thirty-four and I THOUGHT IT WAS ODD I WAS POSTING THE CONVERSATION IN DUMBLEDORE'S OFFICE BUT DIDNT THINK ANYTHING OTHER THAN THAT AND THEN REALIZED LIKE AN HOUR LATER THAT I NEVER POSTED HARRYS DUEL WITH VOLDEMORT IM SO SORRY IM SO SORRY OH MY GOD
> 
> but this works out in your favor because now you get ANOTHER double update since some people already read the next chapter it seems unfair to deny the rest of you.
> 
> I would apologize again, but I think I'm the one who's upset (read: embarrassed) about this, not you.

Voldemort made a swift upward motion with his wand and the cords fell to the ground. Harry pulled the cloth from his mouth and used the headstone to help himself stand--he had no intention of facing Voldemort sitting down, broken leg or no.

Lucius Malfoy went over to the grass where Harry’s wand lay. Harry looked over at Cedric Diggory, still crumpled at the foot of the headstone Voldemort had thrown him into. And Regulus, too, looked dead, nothing but a heap of robes in the grass. Harry was alone in this fight.

Malfoy handed Harry his wand like it was a dirty stick he didn’t want to hold. Harry took it, though he didn’t know what he could do with it. He couldn’t seem to remember any of the spells he’d spent the last few weeks learning.

“Your parents have taught you how to duel, Harry Potter?” Voldemort said. He seemed amused.

Harry had been taught how to duel, both by parents and professors, but all he could remember at that moment was the Disarming spell. Little good that would do him in a crowd of thirty Death Eaters.

“We bow to each other, Harry.” Voldemort bent at the waist but kept his eyes on Harry. “Come, the niceties must be observed. Your mother would like you to show manners. Bow to death Harry--I said _bow_.”

Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry and it was like someone pushed a great weight against his shoulders, forcing him forward.

“Very good. And now you face me, like a man, straight-backed and proud, the way your father did.”

Harry tightened his grip on his wand. He opened his mouth to try the Impediment Curse, but Voldemort wasted no time. 

“ _Crucio_!”

Harry screamed and collapsed. His screams sounded so much louder now that he no longer had a gag to muffle them. His scar burned and his body burned and every nerve beneath his skin seemed to be on fire. He didn’t know if his mind could take any more of this, or if his body would survive this pain. Was it going to be a game of which gave out first?

“Stop!” a voice shouted, and surprisingly, the pain ended.

Harry looked up, expecting to see Regulus coming to his defense, but Regulus hadn’t moved. On the edge of the circle of Death Eaters stood Cedric. But how….

“Foolish boy,” Voldemort said. “How dare you challenge me--”

“ _Expe--_ ”

“ _Crucio_!”

“No!” Harry shouted as Cedric fell to his knees. His scar burned with Voldemort’s anger, and he struggled to concentrate. “ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

But Voldemort was faster, and he ended his curse on Cedric and cast a Shield Charm before Harry had the full spell out of his mouth.

“ _Imperio_.”

Harry’s mind went blank. All pain and memory of pain faded. He felt content, cheerful even.

 _Kill your friend,_ a pleasant voice whispered.

What? Harry thought. No, not Cedric….

_You know the spell. You know you could do it. Kill him, and you could escape._

No--

_Kill him._

“No!” Harry shouted. The pain in his leg, the aches in his joints, the dull throbbing in his scar all came back in a rush and Harry remembered where he was and what he was facing.

He felt the pain in his scar rise before Voldemort raised his wand. Harry ducked behind Tom Riddle’s grave as quickly as he could. He heard a curse crack against the stone and bits of the granite fell onto his shoulder.

“Then I will kill him!” Voldemort shouted. “I will kill him, and it will be painful and you… you will listen knowing you could have spared him this. _Crucio_!”

Cedric screamed and Harry’s scar flared with pain.

“You could stop this, Harry…. Come out, and I will stop. I will finish this now, if that’s what you would prefer. It will be quick. It might even be painless…. I would not know. I have never died.”

Harry knew he had no way out. He was going to die, and Cedric was going to die. If he stood and faced Voldemort now, maybe he could at least give Cedric time to escape.

Harry steeled himself then stood.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” he shouted.

“ _Avada Kedavra_!” Voldemort shouted at the same time.

There was an explosion of green and red and everything turned gold. A golden thread strung between Harry and Voldemort’s wands, and Harry could feel his wand shaking in his hand, like it was fighting against him. He struggled to still it. Harry didn’t know what was happening or why, but he knew he couldn’t let go of his wand.

A golden bead, a concentration of whatever magic connected their wands, slid along the the thread. As it got closer to Harry, the vibration in his wand became stronger. Harry willed the bead to travel closer to Voldemort. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew if he let that bead touch his wand, it would all be over.

“My Lord! What do we do?” one of the Death Eaters shouted.

“Do nothing!” Voldemort shouted back. “Do nothing unless I command you!”

Harry managed to will the bead back to the center of the golden thread, but it became more difficult to push it any farther. Then, there was music. As the notes came out of the golden thread, a web of golden light also came out of the thread and began to weave itself around Harry and Voldemort. The song was familiar to Harry--a phoenix’s song. He’d heard it in the Chamber of Secrets when Fawkes had helped him fight the basilisk. It gave him courage. He willed the bead closer to Voldemort.

“Cedric!” he shouted. “Take Regulus and run!”

Cedric’s reply was distant and muffled through the golden web of light, but Harry understood. “Not without you!” 

Harry should have expected that from Cedric. He concentrated harder, knowing that Cedric and Regulus’s safety relied on him to force that bead of light to touch Voldemort’s wand. What would happen, Harry had no idea, but he was going to make it happen.

Then, the bead touched the tip of Voldemort’s wand. There were faint screams, and a ghostly hand climbed out of the wand. It was wispy, molten, like the hand Voldemort had made for Barty. It faded, and something more solid began to take shape. It was grayish, smokey, like a ghost but with more substance. It was a head, then shoulders, then legs--Barty Crouch, Sr. climbed out of Voldemort’s wand. He looked at Voldemort with wide eyes and then at Harry.

“Hold on, son,” he said. “Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

Harry had no intention of letting go.

Another shape came out of Voldemort’s wand, another man. This was a man Harry had only seen in his dreams and in Dumbledore’s memories. His grey hair and goatee were the first things Harry saw, and then his thick fur robes came next. Igor Karkaroff landed next to Barty Crouch. He looked at Voldemort with a mixture and fear and distaste.

“You’ve got this, boy,” he said in a thick accent, not unlike Krum’s.

The third figure that emerged from Voldemort’s wand was someone Harry had never met before. This man had a round face, round shoulders, pudgy hands… Harry had caught glimpses of him in the background of old photographs. His parents’ graduation, their wedding, his grandparents’ funeral…. Peter Pettigrew.

Peter looked at Harry with a sad smile. “Harry… James… Potter. Brave, strong, like your mother and father…. You can let go now--we’ll buy you time. Get back to the cup.”

Peter looked to Barty Crouch and Igor Karkaroff and they nodded. 

“Go now, Harry. Go--”

Harry broke the connection and ran towards Regulus Black. There was a burst of golden light. The Death Eaters shouted in confusion.

Regulus struggled to stand and the two of them limped towards Cedric. Regulus tripped over Barty Crouch and they both sprawled into the ground.

“I won’t make it,” Regulus said. “Go.”

“No--”

“Harry,” Regulus said, “go.”

Harry could see Cedric running towards them.

“Go!” Regulus said, and pushed Harry forward.

Harry stumbled and ran, despite the protests in his leg. He looked back over his shoulder and threw an Impediment Curse at one of the Death Eaters closest to Regulus. He did not stop to see if it hit its mark, but he did hear a cry.

“ _Incendia Incedicum_ ,” he heard Regulus shout.

Cedric reached him and they clasped hands.

Harry pointed his wand at the cup. “ _Accio!_ ”

The Triwizard Cup flew towards them. Harry grabbed its handle in midair and then the world around them began to spin. He and Cedric were going back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanons and comments appreciated!


	35. Veritaserum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tells everyone what happened in the graveyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are, chapter thirty-five, posted a week early because I'm a silly goose who can't remember what I've posted. *throws confetti*
> 
> Though, to pull from the note I originally put in front of this chapter: I've finished and organized notes on Order of the Phoenix, am sorting through the Half-Blood Prince now, having finished reading it, and let me tell you, I'm not excited to start the Deathly Hallows next week. Basically I have a fair idea of what's going to happen up until we get to The Cave and from there, basically, I'm just hecked up I guess. What's going to happen in place of the horcrux Dumbledore knows Regulus has? Can I save Dumbledore and still have Voldemort take over the Ministry? What's going to happen in place of literally all of Deathly Hallows? Who even knows. We'll all be surprised I guess.
> 
> EDIT: I LITERALLY CAME WITHIN INCHES OF COPYING CHAPTER 36 INTO THIS BOX YOU GUYS IM JUST REALLY EXCITED TO FINISH I GUESS???

Harry slammed into the ground. He couldn’t breathe and his body burned. His scar still ached, a dull pain, a reminder of everything he’d witnessed. Harry felt Cedric moving next to him, but he couldn’t seem to loosen his grip on Cedric’s arm. 

“Harry,” someone said--it wasn’t Cedric--“Harry.” They put a gentle hand on his shoulder and lifted him to his feet.

Harry found himself face to face with Dumbledore. There was a crowd around them, but Harry couldn’t seem to bring them into focus. His broken leg protested with pain, but Cedric was holding him up now.

“....Hospital wing,” Cedric was saying. “He’s hurt--”

“Regulus,” Harry interrupted, suddenly finding his ability to speak. His voice sounded hoarse and distant, like he had cotton stuffed in his ears. “Voldemort--” The need for urgency seized him and he grabbed Dumbledore’s robes. “Dumbledore, Voldemort’s back, and he--Regulus is still there.”

Dumbledore turned away from Harry. “Severus! Where--Take Remus and Sirius. Do not let yourself be seen.”

“I can help,” this was Sirius, loud, urgent. “Let me look at Harry--”

“What’s going on?” Bagman’s voice cut through the crowd. “Is it Harry? Did Harry win?”

There was a loud thud and something heavy hit the ground.

And then Lily: “God, Harry!”

Dumbledore and Cedric were shoved aside and Lily wrapped her arms around Harry. Harry had been fighting tears for hours, but now, here in his mother’s arms, he felt no more need to fight. He cried into her shoulder and clutched at her robes like they were his only lifeline. 

“He’s back,” he said, over and over again. “Mum, he’s back.”

“Sh, it’s alright.” Lily stroked his hair, and though it was comforting, her words only agitated him. He didn’t know how to communicate to her that it wasn’t alright. That something was terribly wrong and someone had to do something. He could only repeat himself between sobs.

“Harry,” his father said, “you’re alright. You’re safe.” Then quieter, “Lily, what happened to him--Where’s Sirius?”

There was a quiet rumble of speech, Harry guessed Dumbledore, but he couldn’t make the words out.

“They’ll need me,” Lily said.

“But--” James never finished his protest. In a defeated voice, he said, “Go.”

Harry was passed from his mother to his father. It took his father’s powerful hands to pry Harry from his mother’s robes, but then he was sobbing into his father’s shoulder with no idea where his mother had gone.

“Come here,” James said, and with a heavy grunt lifted Harry into his arms. “I’ll take you to the hospital wing.”

“Wait, James,” Dumbledore said.

“He’s hurt--”

“Wait,” Dumbledore said.

“But--” Again, James let his argument go unfinished. Instead, he sighed and helped set Harry down on the grass. “Alright, Snitch, I’m going to look at your leg, okay?”

Harry didn’t say anything. He was glad, though, that his father held his hand while he used his wand to cut off the torn leg of Harry’s jeans. There were a few sharp gasps and Harry decided not to look at his leg, not even when a woman’s voice said, “Why is it that color?”

“Mum, shh,” said Cedric.

“ _Ferula_ ,” James said.

Harry cried out in pain and squeezed his father’s hand as the bone in his leg set.

“You’re alright,” James said, and pulled Harry into a hug. “Sirius will be back soon. He’ll fix it.”

Harry wanted to ask where Sirius was, where his mother had gone, but he’d lost his voice again. He could only hold onto his father. He couldn’t even cry anymore. His tears had run out. He felt numb. He wanted to go to sleep.

Then Dumbledore said, “The professors are getting the children to their dormitories. We’ll take care of everything else in my office.”

“Dumbledore.” Harry heard Moody’s uneven footsteps approaching. “I found this in the hedges.”

“Bring her,” Dumbledore said.

James helped Harry stand. “C’mon Snitch, climb on.”

Harry obediently climbed onto his father’s back. James grunted as they started walking and adjusted Harry more than once on the path back to the castle. Harry could see Dumbledore lighting the path ahead of them and Moody’s clunking footsteps behind them. There were other people walking next to his father, but Harry couldn’t tell who, not until Amos Diggory spoke.

“Cedric, what’s happened?”

“I… I don’t really know….” Cedric, who had sounded surprisingly alright when he was trying to get Harry help, suddenly sounded far less sure of himself, maybe even a little scared. “We grabbed the cup and it took us to a graveyard. Someone was coming, then they cursed me. I thought…. I don’t know. I was stunned, or knocked out, or….” Cedric shook his head. “I woke up and there must’ve been thirty people there, in dark robes and masks, like at the Quidditch Cup. They were torturing Harry and I--” Cedric stopped.

Harry waited for Cedric to continue, but he didn’t, and no one said anything. He wished he had the strength to open his eyes and see if Cedric was okay.

James readjusted his grip on Harry, and Harry felt them climbing stairs. Eventually he was set down in a chair.

“Can we fetch for Madam Pomfrey?” James asked. “Or some Sleeping Draught for Harry, at least. He’s hurting--”

“No.” Dumbledore’s voice was swift, sharp. There was no room for argument.

Harry struggled to open his eyes--he would like nothing more than a Sleeping Draught about now--and saw Dumbledore circle the room to stop at Phineas Nigellus’s portrait. “Phineas, go to your frame at Grimmauld Place. When Severus returns, send him to me immediately.”

Phineas frowned at Dumbledore, but left with only a grunt of protest. 

“Alastor, bring her here.” 

Moody brought forward a house-elf. It was unconscious or stunned. Moody set it on Dumbledore’s desk. Harry thought it was Picksie at first, but this house-elf did not look quite as old. 

“She was in the maze,” Harry said suddenly. “I saw her in the bushes.”

Dumbledore examined the house-elf silently. When he seemed finished, he said to Harry and Cedric, “I need you to tell me everything.”

“Dumbledore, can’t this wait until morning?” James asked. “Harry’s exhausted, he needs--”

“We cannot waste time,” Dumbledore said. “You know this.”

“But he’s not really--I mean, there’s no way--It can’t really be--”

“James.”

James, for the third time that night, failed to give proper voice to his argument. He took a seat on the floor beside Harry’s chair and squeezed Harry’s hand encouragingly. 

Fawkes the phoenix fluttered down from his perch and landed on Harry’s knee. A single tear dripped from Fawkes’s eye and landed on Harry’s leg. Harry was filled with warmth and strength. The pain in his leg faded. He smiled gratefully at Fawkes and the bird, though nearly three times Hedwig’s size, settled into his lap.

Harry vaguely remembered being here in Dumbledore’s office two years ago after fighting the basilisk. He’d been dirty and exhausted, his parents had been there, worried, and Dumbledore had asked him to explain everything. This time, though, Harry didn’t know if he’d be able to explain everything. He held onto his father’s hand tightly, and with his other stroked Fawkes’s feathers.

“We took the cup at the same time,” Cedric started, even though he’d already said this part of the story. “It was a Portkey. I don’t… it wasn’t supposed to be, was it?”

Dumbledore frowned. “No. Alastor, go retrieve Ludo Bagman. He should be with Percy Weasley and the other Weasley boys in Minerva’s office. Or perhaps in the infirmary, if he was feeling particularly faint from Lily’s punch. If he is not there, organize a search immediately.”

Moody growled something that must’ve been an assent, then left.

“Continue, please,” Dumbledore said. He leaned against his desk, but did not sit. His eyes were on the house-elf as Cedric continued.

“We were in a graveyard. A person… a man, I guess, in a cloak, I didn’t see his face--”

“Barty Crouch,” Harry said, voice still weak. “It was Barty Crouch, Jr.”

Cedric waited for Harry to continue, but when Harry said nothing, Cedric said, “He… he used the Killing Curse. It was, wasn’t it?” He looked to Harry for confirmation. 

Harry nodded.

Mrs. Diggory gasped and put her hand on her son’s arm, as if she was checking to be sure he was real. 

Harry realized Cedric couldn’t explain what happened next, so Harry was forced to speak. He told Dumbledore how Barty Crouch had tied him to the headstone of Tom Riddle. He described what he could remember of the potion, which was more than Harry really wanted to remember. He told Dumbledore how Barty had used Tom Riddle’s bone, his own hand, and Harry’s blood.

James, who had been obediently silent, now swore and stood up. Dumbledore came around his desk and took Harry’s arm. He pulled back the sleeve of Harry’s robes and examined the cut.

“He said my blood would make him stronger, and it did. He--he touched my scar and it didn’t hurt him.”

Dumbledore took a very long, calculated look at Harry, then returned to his desk. He seemed older and wearier than Harry had ever seen him. “Very well. Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Harry--”

Dumbledore was interrupted by Phineas Nigellus’s portrait. “Severus Snape has returned to Grimmauld Place. He is on his way to you--”

The fireplace in Dumbledore’s office came to life with green flames and Severus Snape stepped out. 

“Were you seen?” was the first thing Dumbledore asked.

“No.”

“Is everyone safe?”

“Yes.”

“Find me the strongest Truth Potion you have, Severus. I don’t believe our witness will be very cooperative.”

Snape looked at the house-elf on Dumbledore’s desk with a curious expression, but he said nothing. He only nodded and headed for the door.

James grabbed Snape’s arm. “Wait.”

Snape looked positively disgusted and pulled away. “How dare--”

“I only wanted--” James looked lost and apologetic. “Only--is Lily alright?”

“She is.”

“And the others?”

“She’s looking after them.” And Snape left before James could ask anything else.

“James,” Dumbledore said.

Harry watched his father try to pull himself back together. Harry felt like he saw so many emotions pass through his father in just a few seconds. Some were familiar: the anger he’d seen at the Quidditch World Cup, the devastation after coming back from the Ministry. Some were not familiar--like fear. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his father look so afraid. 

But then James was himself again. More serious, perhaps, but the strong and confident leader Harry had always known his father to be. 

“Harry,” said Dumbledore, “please continue.”

Harry struggled to regather his thoughts. Talking about what had happened was helping, like if he could get it out, it might go away, but it still wasn’t easy to find the words. Harry reached for his father’s hand.

James squeezed it tightly.

“He summoned his Death Eaters,” Harry said, “using a mark on Barty Crouch’s arm. There were so many…. And Voldemort was talking to them, each one, and he got to Regulus, and then Regulus killed Barty Crouch.” Harry paused, remembering clearly the flash of green light, and Barty Crouch collapsing. “I think he would’ve killed Voldemort, but Voldemort disarmed him and… he tortured him.”

Cedric shifted in his chair, and Harry knew they were both remembering the pain of the Cruciatus Curse.

Harry told Dumbledore everything he remembered of Voldemort’s speech, which explained how Voldemort had resurrected himself and everything he’d been doing for thirteen years. He told them that Voldemort had admitted to killing Karkaroff, and that Barty Crouch had somehow had access to Hogwarts, but Voldemort hadn’t said how.

Then Harry told them how Voldemort had untied him and returned his wand to him to duel. He left out the Cruciatus Curse. Harry told them that’s when Cedric had woken up, though he didn’t know how or why, and Voldemort had tried to make him kill Cedric, but he hadn’t. He told them he had tried to disarm Voldemort when their wands connected.

“I saw Barty Crouch’s father, and Igor Karkaroff, and… Peter Pettigrew.”

“Why?” James asked. Peter Pettigrew was such a rarely spoken name in the Potter household, Harry did not know how to describe the strange tone his father’s voice suddenly had.

“ _Priori Incantatem_ ,” Dumbledore said in a heavy voice.

“The Reverse Spell?” Mr. Diggory said.

Dumbledore nodded. “Harry’s wand and Voldemort’s share cores. Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix. This phoenix, in fact,” and he pointed to Fawkes, still seated on Harry’s lap. “Mr. Ollivander wrote to tell me you had bought the second wand the moment you left his shop four years ago. Because you and Voldemort forced your wands to duel, one of the wands forced the other to regurgitate spells it has performed--in reverse. The most recent first, and then those which preceded it.”

“Peter came back from the dead?” James asked.

“It would have been no more than an echo. Harry, tell me, what did these echoes do?”

“They stalled Voldemort so I could get away… So Cedric and I--I tried to help Regulus, I did. But he told us to go on without him, and….”

The door opened again, and Snape entered with a small vial of a perfectly clear liquid and handed it to Dumbledore. Moody was right behind him, holding Ludo Bagman by the collar.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Bagman was saying loudly. “This is ridiculous, Dumbledore, honestly.”

Dumbledore pointed to the empty chair James had abstained from sitting in. “Ludo, if you please, we’d just like to ask some questions. We only want to know what happened.”

“What do you have to ask me for? It’s these two who--”

“You put the Cup in the center of the maze during the feast.”

“Of course I did.”

“Did you know the cup was a Portkey?”

Bagman laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dumbledore. The cup’s not a Portkey.”

“Someone made it a Portkey, Mr. Bagman,” said Cedric. “Harry and I took it at the same time, and we were taken to a graveyard somewhere.”

“Nonsense.”

“‘Nonsense?’” James spluttered. “These boys just went through a terrifying ordeal and you want to dismiss their stories as nonsense?”

“James,” Dumbledore said.

James regained his composure, but there was still a temper hiding not far below the surface. Harry felt grateful to be defended, at least.

Dumbledore pointed his wand at the tiny house-elf on his desk and said, “ _Ennervate_.”

The small thing sprang to life and sat up. She looked around, shaking in her tea towel.

“No one here is going to hurt you,” Dumbledore said. “Can you tell us your name?”

“My name is Winky, sir,” she said. 

“Mr. Crouch’s elf?” Harry asked.

She nodded. “Y-yes, sir. Winky is needing to get home, sirs. Mister Barty is needing help.”

“Winky,” Dumbledore said in a very calm voice. “I’m afraid to tell you Barty Crouch is dead.”

Winky looked very pale. Harry noticed the folds under her eyes seemed darker than the other house-elves he’d seen, like she’d been under significant stress lately.

“N-no, sir, Mister Barty is needing his Winky.”

“Barty Crouch, Sr., died nearly two months ago, did he not?”

Winky’s lip trembled. “Winky cannot share her Master’s secrets.”

“That’s alright,” said Dumbledore. He handed Winky a small goblet of water. “Why don’t you have something to drink.” He waited until she had finished before asking, “What happened to Barty Crouch, Sr.?”

Winky hiccupped on a sob. “Mister Barty came home and he is using Dark Magic on his father. He is making Winky do bad things and promising not to tell. Winky is telling no one, because Winky is a good elf.”

“When was this?”

“October.”

“What did Barty do, exactly?”

Winky let out a very loud wail and buried her head in her tiny hands. “Barty is controlling his father, and then looking like his father at work so no one is knowing Master Crouch is not well. He is making Winky feed that… that thing… and take venom from the snake. Winky does not like snakes, but she does what Barty asks because Winky is a good elf.”

“Why did Barty impersonate his father?”

“Master Barty is pretending to be his father to run the Tournament. He says he is making it so Harry Potter will win. He says if Harry Potter is winning, then he is being able to revive his master.” Winky sobbed again. “Mister Barty is a bad boy, but Winky is good to him.”

“Did Barty kill his father?”

Winky’s wail was loud and Bagman covered his ears. “Mister Barty’s master is mean and cruel. He is making Barty control his father, but Master Crouch is breaking free. Master Crouch is trying to go to Dumbledore. Mister Barty is stealing the Dark Lord’s wand to kill his father. He is not telling Winky this, but Winky saw. Winky could not stop him.” She sobbed again. “Ohh, Winky is not a good elf. Winky is not helping Master Crouch or Mister Barty.” 

“Winky, I need you to tell me what you were doing at Hogwarts.”

Winky sniffled several times before answering. “Mister Barty is ordering Winky to hide in the maze. He made Winky take him to Hogwarts so he could Confound Mister Bagman and make the cup a Portkey. Then he is making Winky stay behind to make sure Harry Potter gets to the maze. Winky is supposed to make sure Harry is taking the easy path and the others is running into trouble.” She peeked through her fingers at Dumbledore. “Please, sir, Winky is needing to get back to Mister Barty.”

“Barty Crouch is dead,” Dumbledore said. “Regulus Black killed him.”

“No! No, you is lying! Mister Barty and Mister Regulus is good friends, they is very good friends and you is lying. Mister Regulus would never hurt Mister Barty!”

“He did, Winky,” Harry said in a soft voice. “I saw it.”

“No! Mister Barty is all I is having left,” she sobbed loudly. “Now Winky is having no one at home to take care of.”

Dumbledore stood. “It seems, then,” he said, needing to raise his voice a little to be heard over Winky’s sobs, “that we have the answers to our unfortunate questions. I think you all ought to get some rest.”

Harry stood, grateful that Fawkes had healed his leg. Though his legs still felt numb, at least he could walk on them.

“What will happen to her?” Cedric asked.

Dumbledore opened the door of his office. “I’m sorry?”

“The house-elf. What will happen to her? She can’t get in trouble, if she was just doing what she was told.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I’m afraid that will have to be decided later.”

“I can see what I can do for her through the Ministry,” Amos Diggory said.

Dumbledore nodded appreciatively to Mr. Diggory. “Come. I do not think it would be good for the two of you to return to your dormitories. Perhaps a night in the infirmary would be best.”

Cedric, Harry, James, Mr. and Mrs. Diggory, Snape, and Moody followed Dumbledore out of his office.

“I’ll stay here and watch her then,” Moody said, taking a position in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded the office.

“Please,” said Dumbledore. “And Mr. Bagman, if you would accompany me to see the Minister of Magic in a moment’s time.”

“Of course, Dumbledore, of course.”

When they reached the infirmary, Harry was surprised to see Ron and Hermione waiting for him, and even more surprising was that Percy, Bill, and Charlie Weasley were still there, all hounding Madam Pomfrey for answers about where Harry was. Two girls in Hufflepuff that Harry recognized from the Quidditch Pitch and Cho Chang were waiting as well. Harry didn’t think they were there for him.

There was a chorus of questions, but Dumbledore silenced them all. “Harry and Cedric need rest. You may stay if they wish, but there is to be nothing but quiet. Poppy, some Sleeping Draught for both these boys, I think, and double-check for any injuries.”

“Yes, Dumbledore,” and she disappeared into her office.

Harry let his father help him into bed. “You can go check on Mum,” he mumbled.

“I’m not going anywhere. Your mother will be here as soon as she can, I’m sure.”

Madam Pomfrey came back with two glasses. She handed one to Harry and the other to Cedric. “If I hear a peep from anyone, you’ll be kicked out. Understand?”

Every student nodded at her.

She stared pointedly at James.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Satisfied, she waited until Harry and Cedric had finished their potions, then went back to her office. Harry felt it begin to take effect immediately, or perhaps he was already that exhausted. The last sensation he was aware of was his father tucking the hospital bedsheets around him and kissing his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heacanons and comments always appreciated!


	36. The Parting of Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Minster of Magic arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of you seemed surprised or even disappointed Cedric lived. I don't blame you. I waffled on the decision to save Cedric several times but I always came back to two things:  
> 1) Cedric is the reason I ever fell in love with Harry Potter, and so personally it hurt too much to let him die. I was afraid that if I was the one to kill him, it would be like killing my love for Harry and for the series.  
> 2) This series is all about Harry being supported and loved. I needed someone who had been there in the graveyard, someone who could verify everything Harry said. I always knew that would have to be Cedric. Even though Regulus was there, too, he isn't going to be able to support Harry in the Order of the Phoenix. It had to be Cedric, and so Cedric had to live.  
> And a final note: all your questions about Regulus, Lily, Sirius, and Remus will be answered in the final chapter; don't worry. This book began with Regulus and I always knew I would end it with him as well. (This might also be a good time to reread Chapter One, if you're not sure what's going through Regulus's head right about now.)

Harry awoke feeling like he hadn’t been asleep very long. He thought that odd. Sleeping Draught was supposed to last quite awhile. He could still its effects--sluggishness in his limbs, warmth in his core. He didn’t particularly want to wake up, but he heard voices and opened his eyes anyway. Everything was blurry. He blinked and realized someone had taken his glasses off while he was asleep. He turned his head to where he expected his father to be, but instead he saw the blurred image of his mother, her long dark red hair recognizable even with his impaired vision. He reached out for his glasses on the bedside table. She stirred as he fumbled. When he had his glasses on his face she smiling at him, but Harry gasped when he saw her face.

Lily had a bright pink line running from her forehead, around her eye, and down her cheek. It looked like it had once been a deep gash. She laughed breathlessly at his expression.

“I’m alright.” She bent over and kissed his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“What happened?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Are you feeling any better? Your father said you were alright, only exhausted.”

Harry nodded, though he wasn’t sure “alright,” was the best thing to say. He wasn’t physically injured, and he at least felt better after resting, but he still felt terrified, and now concerned about why his mother had been injured. 

Lily stroked Harry’s hair. She was looking at him like she might cry suddenly, and Harry didn’t know why. He reached out for her hand. She took his hand and squeezed it tightly.

“Mrs. Potter?”

Lily turned, and behind her, Harry saw Charlie Weasley with two mugs of tea in his hands.

“Oh, thank you.” She took one of the mugs from him without letting go of Harry’s hand. 

“How are you feeling?” Charlie asked.

Harry didn’t really want to lie. “What are you doing here?”

“Ditching work,” he smiled. “Bill told me he had to come to the tournament for the bank. Something to do with being sent for a meeting with Bagman, asked me to come with. So I took off, asked my mates to cover me, and told them there’s a family emergency so I’ll be a bit longer.”

Charlie Weasley, seven years older than Harry, who Harry had seen only at a few holidays and birthdays, had taken work off for a family emergency. Harry didn’t know what to say.

“Where’d Bill go? And Percy?”

“Bill’s meeting with Bagman right about now. Or more likely listening to him whine about his black eye. Your mum packs quite the punch. Percy’s at the Ministry, dealing with all this fall out. The found Mr. Crouch’s body a couple hours ago. It’s utter chaos there right now. Bill said he’d come back, soon as he could.”

“And Dad?” Harry looked at his mother. It should’ve been James bringing Lily tea, not Charlie.

“Your dad is….” Lily took a sip of her tea to stall. “He’s with Dumbledore.”

Harry wondered what she was hiding from him. “Where are Remus and Sirius?”

“At home with… the cat.”

“Oh. Is the cat okay?”

“Yes.”

Harry looked to the other side of the infirmary where Cedric was still asleep. Mr. and Mrs. Diggory were sitting next to him. Harry couldn’t tell if they were awake or asleep. He noticed Cho Chang and the Hufflepuff students had left. So had Ron and Hermione. Harry hoped they’d all gone to bed. They needed rest, too.

Suddenly, there was shouting in the corridor outside the hospital wing.

“Of course I do! He’s my son.”

“Honestly, Potter,” this was Fudge speaking, “he’s a fourteen-year-old boy.”

The doors to the infirmary opened, and Dumbledore said, “Perhaps if we went up to my office instead--”

“Oh, let’s get this over with, shall we? Best to put the whole thing behind us.” Harry watched Fudge walk in and set a large bag on a table. Harry could hear the metal coins clinking inside.

Dumbledore was following Fudge closely, James and Snape were not far behind him.

“Minister,” Dumbledore said, “now is not the time. Cedric and Harry have been through enough tonight.”

“Oh, but--”

“Haven’t you been listening?” James’s voice was loud enough to startle Mr. and Mrs. Diggory. “You-Know-Who is back and you’re still worried about the tournament! There are half a dozen things that need to be done.”

Fudge smiled--actually smiled--at James. “Now, I know he’s your son, but, really, You-Know-Who.” Fudge looked to Dumbledore, expecting to see his patronizing smile mirrored, but there was a quiet fire in Dumbledore’s eyes that Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.

“You, too, Dumbledore, are just prepared to, er, take Harry Potter’s word on this?”

“Certainly. If you step into my office, I can explain everything to you. Harry’s story and the story of Winky, Mr. Crouch’s house-elf, explain everything that’s happened since Bertha Jorkins’s disappearance last summer.”

Fudge was still smiling awkwardly. “You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned on the word of a house-elf, and a boy who… well….”

“A boy who what?” James said through gritted teeth.

But Harry understood. “You’ve been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr. Fudge.”

Fudge ignored Harry. “Do you admit, Dumbledore, that you’ve been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth, and having funny turns all over the place?”

“Harry’s not--”

But Dumbledore interrupted James. “I assume, that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?”

“You admit he’s been having these pains then? Headaches, nightmares, possibly--hallucinations?”

“Harry’s not having hallucinations--” but Lily was interrupted by Dumbledore.

“Listen to me, Cornelius. Harry is as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts him when Lord Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing--”

“I saw Voldemort come back,” Harry said. He tried to get out of bed, but Lily held him still. “I saw the Death Eaters--Lucius Malfoy, Macnair, Avery, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle--”

“You are merely repeating the names of Death Eaters who were cleared thirteen years ago! You could have gotten those names anywhere!” Fudge turned back to Dumbledore, clearly having no interest in speaking to Harry. “Dumbledore, the boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year, too. His tales are getting taller, and you’re still swallowing them. The boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he’s trustworthy?”

“You want us to believe that Bertha Jorkins and Crouch died randomly?” James said. “And Harry and Cedric, just what, had a shared hallucination?”

“From what I’ve heard,” Fudge said loudly, “there’s no reason to believe Bertha Jorkins and Barty Crouch’s deaths are related,” Fudge said. “And from what you’ve told me,” he looked at Dumbledore, “Cedric Diggory did not actually see You-Know-Who. But as you will not let me ask Diggory his story--It seems to me that the truth is you are all trying to start a panic that will destabilize everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!”

Fudge had worked himself into a sort of frenzy, face purple, hands clenched at his sides. Harry was utterly shocked. He’d never thought much of Fudge, but to see him be this willfully ignorant made Harry furious. How could anyone choose to be so dense?

“I fought him!” Lily said. “I fought Voldemort, and I can vouch for Harry and Cedric’s story.”

Fudge stared at Lily, shocked on his face. “You can’t have.”

Harry felt equally shocked. His mother had fought Voldemort and come away with a scratch on her face?

“Voldemort has returned,” Dumbledore said. “If you accept that fact straightaway, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the dementors--”

“Preposterous! Remove the dementors? I’d be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban.”

“The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort’s most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them! They will not remain loyal to you. Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago.”

Fudge shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“The second step you must take--and at once--is to send envoys to the giants.”

“What madness--”

“Extend them the hand of friendship now, before it is too late, or Voldemort will persuade them as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom.”

“You cannot be serious.” Fudge’s hands were shaking now, and he took a step away from Dumbledore. “If people knew that I had approached the giants--end of my career”

“You are blinded,” Dumbledore said, voice rising in volume, but not in pace, “by the love of the office you hold. You place too much importance and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood. You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! I tell you now--take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act--and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!”

Mr. and Mrs. Diggory sat in stunned silence. Even James and Lily seemed surprised by the severity of Dumbledore’s words. Madam Pomfrey had come out of her office and was standing in the doorway with her hand over her mouth in shock.

“You’re mad,” Fudge said.

“If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius, we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I--I shall act as I see fit.”

“If you’re going to work against me--”

“The only one against whom I intend to work is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side.”

“He can’t be back,” Fudge said. His voice was less of a protest and more of a plea. “He just can’t be.”

Snape strode forward and rolled up his sleeve. Harry saw, plainly, the Dark Mark he’d seen on Barty Crouch in the graveyard, the red brand burned into Snape’s skin.

“There,” Snape said. “The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the mark of any Death Eater, the mark would burn, and we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This mark has been growing clearer all year, and tonight it burned.”

Harry felt Lily squeeze his hand tighter, and he wondered if she hadn’t known that Snape used to be a Death Eater.

Fudge took three steps away from Snape, closer to the door. He seemed to ignore Snape the way he’d ignored Harry. “I don’t know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry.”

With that, he crammed his bright green bowler hat on his head and stalked out of the room, only to pop his head back in a moment later. “The winnings are for Diggory and Potter to split, since under the circumstances, there will be no ceremony. So, whatever you want to do with them….” He didn’t seem to know what to do with the rest of his sentence, so he left. 

“That ass--”

Mrs. Diggory gasped so loudly at Lily’s language that Lily quickly said, “I was going to say asinine.”

Harry didn’t believe her. 

“Poppy,” Dumbledore said, “would you be very kind and go down to my office, where I think you will find a house-elf called Winky in considerable distress? Do what you can for her, then take her down to the kitchens. She may rest there, and let her know there is work here if she wants it.”

Madam Pomfrey blinked at Dumbledore, then nodded. “Very well.” She left the infirmary.

Dumbledore looked at Mr. and Mrs. Diggory. “You have heard Harry’s story and your son’s story. Will you stand against Voldemort, or will you stand aside?”

Harry watched the way Mrs. Diggory stroked her son’s forehead, just like his mother had been doing to his.

“No one calls my son a liar,” Mr. Diggory said. “If Cedric says Harry’s right, then Harry’s right.”

James’s temper deflated, as if the coldness he felt towards Mr. Diggory seemed to melt just a bit. 

“If you could spread the word at the Ministry, but quietly,” said Dumbledore. “Fudge must not think I’m interfering. Charlie, can you get word to your parents and brothers? Ask if they’ll help?”

“Of course. I can go home right now and ask Dad. I’m sure he’ll want to help.”

“Discreetly, please,” Dumbledore urged, looking at both Charlie and Amos. When Charlie had gone, Dumbledore turned to James and Lily. “And I can count on you, as I did before?”

“Of course,” Lily said.

James nodded once. 

Lastly, Dumbledore turned to Snape. “Severus, you know what I must ask of you.”

Snape looked rather ill, but nodded and left the room.

Dumbledore asked if Harry was alright, checked on Cedric, then left himself. 

Harry felt like the air had changed between Fudge’s arrival and departure. The hospital wing felt charged with something new. James gave Harry another dose of Sleeping Draught--“Of course I know where it is, Lily, do you know how much we pinched off Pomfrey’s prescriptions back in the day?”--“Do I want to know?”--and Harry fell back asleep, listening to his mother hum a Muggle lullaby Harry hadn’t heard since he was seven.

\--- --- ---

Staying in the infirmary was not new to Harry, but he did not usually have so many visitors. There were Ron and Hermione, of course, who came by first thing the next morning and stayed all day. They didn’t ask questions, they didn’t say much of anything, really. Mostly they sat with him, while Hermione read and Ron played chess, either against Harry, or when Harry wasn’t feeling up to it, Lily.

Ginny and Neville came by after breakfast. Dean and Seamus came at lunch. Even Lavender and Parvati came by with a card. Sally and Sophie had signed it too, but they didn’t come to visit.

Colin and Dennis Creevey came, but they didn’t stay long because Madam Pomfrey kicked them out for being too noisy. Cho Chang came and sat with Cedric for a couple hours, and talked quietly with his parents. She also said hello to Harry and asked how he was, but she didn’t stay to talk with him nearly as long. Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum came by just before tea. They said hello to Harry, congratulated him on winning, then went to do the same to Cedric. Bill and Charlie came by shortly after and stayed for tea. Fleur left Cedric’s bedside and invited herself to tea with Harry and his family. Harry didn’t mind. Viktor gave Hermione a letter, but didn’t take tea, even though he was invited to.

During dinner, Cedric decided he was done with the hospital. He said he just wanted to sleep in his own bed again, not in the hospital like an invalid. Mrs. Diggory protested, but Madam Pomfrey assured her Cedric was fine. His only real injuries had been minor bruising on his head and shoulders, which she’d taken care of. If he wanted to sleep in his own bed, he was more than welcome to.

Cedric came over to Harry’s bed. “Do you feel any better?”

Harry, who had so far avoided this question from everyone else, didn’t know how to dodge it in front of Cedric. “No,” he said quietly, hoping his mother was too focused on her chess match with Ron to listen.

“Yeah, me neither,” Cedric said. 

Hermione slammed her hand against the windowsill, making everyone jump. “Sorry,” she whispered.

Ron and Lily returned to their game. James and Amos resumed their whispered conversation.

Cedric glanced at the prize money that hadn’t moved since Fudge had dropped it on the table. “I don’t want it.”

“I don’t either. I don’t need it.”

“Don’t suppose we should give it back.”

As Fred and George came in to visit, Harry had an idea. It was really the only good thought he’d had all day, the only thought that had made him even want to smile.

“I can get rid of it,” Harry said. “I think I know what to do with it.”

Cedric squeezed his shoulder. “Alright, it’s yours. I’ll see you later, then?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Cedric and his parents left, and Harry made Fred and George an offer they really couldn’t refuse.

Later that evening, just as James and Madam Pomfrey were arguing over how much Sleeping Draught to give Harry, Hagrid came to visit.

“You all righ’?” he asked, sitting awkwardly on the small chair beside the bed.

“Yeah,” said Harry.

Hagrid let out a very deep hum. “No, yeh’re not, but yeh will be.” He nodded, as if affirming his own words. “Came ter see you lot, but I came ter say goodbye, too. Dumbledore’s given me a job for the summer, so I’ll be heading off.”

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Top secret. But don’t you worry about it. Dumbledore’s a great man, he knows what he’s doing. Migh’ even be able ter stop You-Know-Who before he gets a good hold. Long as we got him, I’m not too worried.”

Hagrid looked over Ron, Harry and Hermione’s worried faces, and then noticed Lily at the foot of Harry’s bed, looking just as worried and more exhausted than any of the students, including Harry.

“What’s comin’ will come,” Hagrid said, “an’ we’ll meet it when it does.”

Harry watched his mother bite down on the inside of her cheek, a subtle motion, but Harry saw it and looked down at his bed sheets. Harry had several ideas of what might be coming, and he didn’t like any of them. He knew, though, that his parents did have a solid idea of what was coming. They’d been through this before. He wondered how worried they’d been the first time, when they were not much older than he was now.

He opened his mouth to ask when Madam Pomfrey thrust a cup into his hands. “If he wakes up,” she said to James, “you can come ask me for more. I’m not risking his heart stopping.”

“I’m only saying,” James said, “he woke up last night. Why not just give him a stronger dose now?”

“Dad, I’m fine,” Harry said, “it’s okay,” and he drank the cup Madam Pomfrey had given him. Like last night, he felt warm all over, and his eyelids were suddenly heavy.

Hagrid, Ron, and Hermione, stood up.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Harry,” Hermione said.

Ron picked up his chess set. “Good night.”

“Night,” Harry said back, already terribly sleepy, as he sank into the pillows. Lily pulled the blanket up over him and he fell asleep while she stroked his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanons, questions, comments, concerns always appreciated!


	37. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus goes to the graveyard with three purposes in mind: Kill Barty Crouch, kill Voldemort, and then die himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A series of thanks are in order: 
> 
> Firstly, to my beta, ageofzero, who puts up with so much from me. Everything from last minute chapters to three am texts, and they always leave the most encouraging and thoughtful comments and edits. I would be dead in the water without them. 
> 
> Secondly, to my best friend and best companion, duneekah, who listens to every drunk rambling and panicked ranting about what in the world I'm going to do in the series. She has much more to listen to, and her unending patience keeps me from drowning. 
> 
> And lastly, to all of you who read and enjoy this. You cannot know what it means to know that there are people out there who read what I've written and like it. I've been writing for over ten years now, and I never so many people could read and enjoy a story of mine. I know I didn't create this world or these characters--JKR did an amazing job on that many years ago--but it's still a wonder to know that something I had a hand in creating is loved by people whom I've never met. It's the most encouraging thing I could have ever experienced as a writer. So thank you.
> 
> The break from here and Order of the Phoenix will be unfortunately lengthy. I have so much schooling and work to do, and so much reading and planning to do. I'm also taking a break from Harry Potter to write the second draft of one of my novels in November, so wish me luck. I'm expecting Order of the Phoenix to begin around Christmas or New Years.
> 
> Thank you again for sticking with me this far. We're not even halfway through, and there's so much more adventure to be had.
> 
> For now, enjoy this last chapter.

On the evening of June twenty-fourth, Regulus enjoyed a small, quiet supper alone. Sirius and Remus had gone to Hogwarts to watch Harry compete in the final task of the tournament, and there had been a general sense of levity about the day. Remus and Sirius seemed to think that Harry surviving this far meant it was all over. As long as Harry survived tonight, whatever plan The Dark Lord’s followers had concocted was foiled.

Regulus wished he had their confidence, but his Dark Mark was growing darker every day, and he hadn’t had the heart to talk to Sirius about it. Voldemort was coming back, and soon.

He hadn’t hunted for a horcrux with Dumbledore since August, which didn’t surprise Regulus. Dumbledore was a busy man. In fact, he’d had only one conversation with Dumbledore the entire time Harry was at school. Dumbledore had asked him why he was sneaking into Hogwarts and going through Snape’s office.

“I don’t trust him,” Regulus had said simply.

“I trust him, and that should be enough for you,” Dumbledore replied, “as it will have to be for him when the time comes for you two to work together.”

Regulus had taken a sip of his tea and said, “You don’t know who put Harry’s name in that goblet.”

“No.”

“You don’t know what the Dark Lord is after.”

“Whatever it is, has nothing to do with Severus Snape.”

“If you say so.”

“I am not asking you to like him, only to accept my faith in him.”

Regulus had looked Dumbledore in the eye and said, “There are many who denounced the Dark Lord publicly, but will crawl back to him out of sheer fear when he calls again.”

“Will you?”

Regulus had smiled and said, “I did not publicly denounce the Dark Lord.”

That was the last time Regulus and Dumbledore had spoken.

Regulus sat down in the parlor with a book to pass the evening, waiting for the moment Sirius burst in, eager to share everything that had happened at the final task. He was not ready for, at seven past nine, his left forearm to burn painfully. He was so startled he dropped the book, but his shock was not long. Regulus had known this moment was coming.

He took his wand, slipped out the front door without alerting Kreacher, and Apparated as his Dark Mark called.

Regulus had not expected to return to Little Hangleton at any point in his life, but since that was where the Dark Lord was summoning him, that was where he went. It confirmed to Regulus Dumbledore’s suspicion that there was a horcrux in the area, but Regulus knew he would not have the opportunity to return and search. He went when the Dark Lord called with two clear goals in mind. He would kill Barty Crouch, Jr., and he would kill the Dark Lord. Then he would die, but that was alright. Regulus had meant to die sixteen years ago. It would make no difference if he died tonight.

There had been almost thirty others in the graveyard, with their cloaks and masks. It was so eerily familiar to Regulus that he had to remind himself he was no longer seventeen, that he’d done at least as much as any Auror had to defeat the Dark Lord.

As Regulus stepped closer, he reminded himself to close his mind, to conceal his betrayal. He took his old place, next to the empty space Peter Pettigrew would have once occupied, and saw Harry, bound to a headstone, injured, looking more terrified than Regulus thought he’d ever felt in his life. For the briefest moment, Regulus considered cutting Harry free and running for it. But when he saw the Dark Lord standing in the circle, watching his followers gather to him, and Barty, kneeling behind the Dark Lord, Regulus knew his mission had to take precedence. 

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Avery prostrated himself before the Dark Lord. He’d once admired the Dark Lord’s ability to strike fear into the hearts of his followers, but now Regulus hated all of those who stood here. These were the ones who had renounced the Dark Lord at his fall. These were the ones who did not have beliefs to stand on, only a desire for power. Regulus had once thought himself like them, but Sirius had been right about him since they were children. He was soft, weak, and if he hadn’t spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit, Regulus would probably not have been able to bravely stand here now.

He bowed before Voldemort as the rest of them did. He knew Voldemort’s skill at delving into another’s mind was formidable, and he did not have any interest in attracting unwanted attention to himself. Not yet. Regulus needed to wait until the moment was right.

Voldemort made his way around the circle, chastising those who had failed him, who had abandoned him. Then he reached Regulus. Regulus looked into those red, snakelike eyes, and tried to remember how to be that seventeen-year-old boy. He recalled to the front of his mind all the awe he’d felt, the wonder and terror, of seeing the Dark Lord in the flesh.

“And one,” Voldemort said, staring into Regulus’s skull-shaped mask, searching for all of Regulus’s secrets, “who seems to have returned from the dead like myself. Regulus Arcturus Black, isn’t this surprising.” 

Regulus stared right back, projecting everything he could remember about who he used to be--but then Barty stood, and walked towards Regulus.

“Reg--I knew you’d come back if he called, I knew--”

At the sound of his voice, Regulus’s revulsion and hatred towards Barty, for spending twelve years in Azkaban for a crime Barty had committed, while Barty ran free and thought nothing of him, burst into the front of his mind like water through a dam, revealing his true intentions to Voldemort.

He only had seconds to act.

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

He hit Barty in the chest, and, without pausing turned his wand to Voldemort. But before he could complete his second curse, his wand was knocked from him with a wordless spell, and he was thrown into one of the graveyard’s many headstones.

“I did not want to believe the rumors,” Voldemort said as he stepped closer. “I did not want to believe the rumors that the Black princeling had abandoned his master and his cause. I did not want to believe he had become as much of a failure as his brother…. But sometimes the truth is a hard thing to accept. _Crucio_!”

Regulus screamed as the spell hit him. His body burned with pain, and he remembered a time he’d stood up to his mother, the one time he’d disagreed with her to her face. It wasn’t the pleasantest of memories, but it gave him a bit of courage.

Voldemort ended the spell. and Regulus pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. 

“Was... that it? My mother could do better, and she’s dead--”

“ _Crucio_!”

Regulus screamed again. He had known it would not end well for him to be on the wrong side of the Dark Lord. He had expected to die tonight, but this was worse than he had prepared for. When Voldemort ended the curse, Regulus managed to sit up, though he had to lean against the headstone.

“You abandoned me… you have killed my most faithful servant… you--”

He grinned at Voldemort and prepared his mind to conceal the deepest truth of his betrayal. He had always been an excellent liar, to his father, his mother, his brother.

“You don’t know the half of what I’ve done.” He allowed his mind to remember the horcrux he’d found, but he hid his involvement with Dumbledore, and just how much he knew about the horcruxes. “I’ve got my hands on something I think you’ll miss. And if you kill me now, you’ll never know which.”

“ _Crucio_!”

This pain burned far worse than any other. He’d truly angered Voldemort now, and as he writhed on the ground he thought to himself that this would be it. He would die here, die in the way the Wizengamot thought he deserved, die the way Barty Crouch had nearly killed Frank and Alice Longbottom. Maybe this was no less than what he deserved.

This time, when the Dark Lord ended the curse, he couldn’t find the strength to move. It was all he could do to remember to breathe as every nerve in his body protested movement. He wondered how far he was from his wand. 

“Do you think,” the Dark Lord began slowly, “that you have even an inkling of how to kill me? I have made it impossible. Even Harry Potter did not defeat me!”

Regulus could only listen as the Dark Lord told them all the story of how he’d restored himself to power, how he’d killed Igor Karkaroff, how he’d manipulated the Triwizard Tournament to get Harry here. Regulus heard Harry scream again and Regulus fought with all his willpower to move his body, if only he could get to Harry, maybe he could distract the Dark Lord long enough for Harry to escape.

Regulus heard Harry scream and wished there was something he could do to help. He could not even lift his head. He tested moving one of his fingers, even, but it protested with pain. Pain was always easier to manage as a cat, if he could just transform, but his mind could not manage to focus long enough to transfigure his entire body. 

Regulus listened to the Dark Lord force Harry to duel, and thought how foolish he’d been to come alone. He should have expected something like this. He could have told Sirius and Remus his intention all along. They could have been here to help Harry.

And then someone shouted at the Dark Lord to stop, and Regulus, briefly, thought someone had come to his and Harry’s rescue. But when he forced his eyes open, he saw only a young boy, not much older than Harry, facing the Dark Lord and thirty of his followers alone. Regulus’s heart sank into his stomach. This boy, too, then, was as good as dead.

As the Dark Lord began to torture the boy, Regulus struggled to stand up. His arms shook, but he managed to get them to hold his weight. He looked up and saw Harry throw off the Imperius Curse. Regulus’s heart swelled with wonder at this child’s determination and power.

As Harry stood to face the Dark Lord, Regulus thought how much he looked like James, fierce and proud, ready to face death if it meant saving others. It was something Regulus had always admired and hated about James. He’d thought, more than once, if he could be more like James, maybe Sirius would like him more. The self-doubt he suddenly felt while watching Harry, coupled with the pain in his blood and bones, caused his arms to buckle, and he fell back into the grass.

Regulus searched for the strength to stand, to get between the Dark Lord and Harry, but his body burned with even the thought of movement, so much like the terrible curse he’d suffered sixteen years ago. He wondered briefly if the Dark Lord’s Cruciatus Curse had unintentionally brought out something that had been lying latent in his blood. 

And then, the most extraordinary thing happened.

A brilliant burst of light filled the graveyard, and the Dark Lord’s wand was connected to Harry’s with a golden thread. Regulus had never seen this kind of magic before. Regulus watched in awe as a golden web wove itself around Harry and Voldemort, separating them from the Death Eaters. No one seemed to know what to do. He heard Harry shout to Cedric to run, and Cedric told him he wouldn’t. Regulus’s heart ached at the exchange, but it gave him the strength he needed to at least sit up. He could probably crawl to his wand, but it was on the other side of the glowing golden orb that was encasing The Dark Lord’s duel with Harry.

Then the golden glow was gone, and Harry was at his side. Regulus stood with as much strength as he had, but it wasn’t much. He had to lean on Harry as together they limped towards Cedric. They reached Barty’s body, and Regulus sank to his knees. He picked up Barty’s wand and tucked it into his robes. Harry tried to help him to his feet again.

The Death Eaters were still in a state of confusion, no idea what to do without orders from their Dark Lord, but Regulus knew that confusion would not last long, certainly not long enough for Harry to carry him back to the Portkey. “I won’t make it,” Regulus said. “Go.”

“No--”

“Harry,” Regulus said, “go.” He pushed Harry towards Cedric. “Go!”

Harry stumbled and ran, and Regulus crawled the extra meter he needed to grab his own wand. He turned as a red spark passed over his shoulder, thanks to Harry, and a stunned Death Eater took a dive into the dirt.

“ _Incendia Incedicum_ ,” Regulus shouted, and a purple flame burst from his wand, taking out two more of the Dark Lord’s followers.

He didn’t pause to see the effect of his curse. Instead, he crawled to safety behind one of the headstones. He tried to gather the concentration to Apparate, but his body still protested with pain. He did not know how long he could make this fight last. 

The Dark Lord let out a cry of rage, which, terrifying as it was, comforted Regulus, because that meant Harry had successfully escaped.

“Find him!” the Dark Lord shouted. “Bring him to me!”

“Do… do you mean Harry Potter, sir, or Regulus Black?” Avery asked.

Regulus heard the sound of a small explosion and Avery yelped.

“Bring me Regulus Black and I will show you what it costs to betray me,” the Dark Lord said.

Regulus heard the Death Eaters shuffling as they searched the graveyard for him. It would only be a matter of time before he was found. He wondered if he could hit the Dark Lord with the Killing Curse from here. He probably wouldn’t have time to try more than once, probably wouldn’t even have time to get the spell out.

But he couldn’t run, his body wouldn’t let him. He had two options: wait to be found, or face the Dark Lord. He remembered Harry standing to face the Dark Lord and thought he could never be that strong or brave. Whatever it was that gave Harry that sort of courage, Regulus didn’t have it.

It was not a Death Eater that found him, though, it was the Dark Lord’s snake, slithering around the stone. She hissed loudly at him and he heard the Dark Lord shout, “There!”

Regulus stood, using the stone for support. There were two Death Eaters not three meters from him. He used two quick Stunning Spells, then threw an Incendiary Jinx at the wave of Death Eaters that approached him. He prepared himself to throw another curse, but there was a sharp pain in his leg. He looked down. The snake had bitten him. 

It bit again, and blood pooled at his feet. He felt dizzy and sank to one knee. His wand shook in his hand. This was it, then.

Then there were several sharp cracks. “ _Expulso_!” a woman’s voice shouted, and a loud explosion followed. The headstone Regulus had been leaning on shook, and the snake slithered away to safety.

“ _Flipendo_!” another voice shouted, one that Regulus recognized immediately as Sirius’s.

Regulus felt a wave of hope and terror all at once. Hope that someone had come to help him, and terror because how many were there, and did they really stand a chance against Lord Voldemort?

Suddenly, Sirius was at his side, helping him stand.

“What were you thinking, coming here, you idiot?” Sirius said, pulling Regulus’s arm over his shoulder.

“I thought... I could kill the Dark Lord,” Regulus answered, thinking that may have been the most honest thing he’d said to Sirius in the last year.

“How’d I end up with a prat like you for a brother?” Sirius growled and straightened. Now Regulus had a clear view of the damage being done.

His fire had nearly burned out, but a small crater stood in the center of the graveyard, with Lily Potter on one side and the Dark Lord on the other. Unconscious Death Eaters littered the space around the crater. Remus Lupin was defending himself against no less than four Death Eaters, and managed to stun one of them between successive Shield Charms.

“Lily, I’ve got him,” Sirius shouted.

But Lily didn’t seem to hear him.

“You took my son!” she shouted across the crater. “ _Argenta sempra_!”

The Dark Lord deflected it with a wordless Shield Charm. “Foolish girl! You should have died thirteen years ago! _Avada--_ ”

“ _Stupefy!_ ” Her Stunning Jinx hit Voldemort in the shoulder. He stumbled, but he did not fall. “You did die thirteen years ago, and I will not let you come back to hurt Harry again! _Impedimentia_!”

 

“Lily!” Remus shouted at her. “Lily, let’s get out of here!”

“ _Antaparavi_!” the Dark Lord shouted, and a white ring expanded from him and filled the graveyard. There would be no Disapparating unless they made it outside the stone walls that surrounded the cemetery.

“Goddamit!” Sirius shouted. “Lily, this is all your fault!”

Regulus was half-dragged, half-carried away from the battle. Though the pain in his leg was only increasing, and he was growing increasingly dizzy, he forced himself to turn and cast at least one Disarming Charm against the Death Eaters pursuing them. But it wasn’t enough.

A silver spark hit Sirius in the back and he stumbled to the ground. Regulus went down with him. He was sure they were done for, but Remus was suddenly at their side.

“ _Protego Duo_!” and a Shield Charm, barely big enough to cover the three of them, appeared from Remus’s wand. Three blue and red sparks bounced off of it, and then a fourth purple light shattered it. Remus took the spell straight to the chest. He coughed up a mouthful of blood and hauled Regulus to his feet while throwing a wordless spell back at his attacker.

Sirius was up, too, but his legs didn’t seem to be working properly. He stumbled forward, about as gracefully as Regulus.

“Lily!” Remus shouted once more, and spat more blood onto the ground.

They were nearly out. Sirius pushed Regulus forward and they both stumbled into the stone wall around the graveyard. Sirius helped boost Regulus while Remus threw up another Shield Charm. This one broke in one spell, though, and Remus’s wand flew over wall of the graveyard. As Regulus fell to the other side, he picked up Remus’s wand.

The next person to come over the wall was Sirius, who fell on his face and had to spit out a mouthful of dirt.

Regulus heard Lily shout, “ _Protego!_ ” and the largest Shield Charm Regulus had ever seen sprang up against the night sky. It towered over the wall of the graveyard, and a series of jinxes bounced off of its surface.

Remus was next over the wall. He grabbed Sirius with one hand and put his other around Regulus’s, taking his wand with it. With a crack, they Disapparated.

Regulus found himself on the front steps of Grimmauld Place. Someone dragged him inside. He heard a crack, and then Lily was barging her way into the house. Regulus could hear screaming, but maybe that didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was only his mother’s portrait.

Someone set him down on a couch. He opened his eyes and saw Lily with blood dripping down half of her face. She had her wand pointed at his chest with a faint blue light glowing at the tip.

“Sirius, you’re better at this,” she said.

“Get back here and fix my bloody legs! I don’t know what’s wrong with them!”

“ _Finite Incantatem_.” Was that Severus’s voice?

It must not have worked, because Sirius growled. “Fat lot of good you are! Couldn’t even show up to fight with us--Oh, and you’re just going to up and leave? Fine, good rid--”

“He’s doing as Dumbledore asked,” Lily snapped. “Take us to the graveyard, then go let everyone know we came back safely.” The light on her wand vanished and she let out a cry of frustration. “Sirius, he’s bleeding and I don’t know what to do!”

“If you hadn’t tried to duel bloody Voldemort,” Sirius said, voice growing closer, “we wouldn’t be in this position.”

“We needed her Shield Charm,” Remus said, and coughed. “We’d have been dead without it.”

“We wouldn’t have needed it if we could’ve Disapparated out of there.”

Now Sirius sounded close, and Regulus wondered why he couldn’t see him. Then he turned his head to see Sirius crawling forward without the use of his legs. He struggled up onto his knees, then held the tip of his wand against Regulus’s chest. The end of it glowed the faint blue Lily’s had moments earlier.

“Blood-Replenishing Potion, quick,” Sirius said. He glanced over his shoulder at Remus. “I’m guessing for both of them.”

Lily disappeared out of Regulus’s vision.

Sirius ran his wand down the length of Regulus’s body until he found the wound in Regulus’s leg. He muttered a series of spells, swearing between each one. Regulus guessed that nothing was working, since the pain in his leg was not abating in the least.

Sirius tied something tightly around Regulus’s knee. The pain in his leg didn’t go away as much as his whole leg began to go numb. Regulus hoped that was an improvement.

Then Lily reappeared and tipped something warm into Regulus’s mouth. She seemed practiced at administering potions, and didn’t spill a single drop. The potion cleared Regulus’s head and he felt much more awake. He moved to sit up, but Lily held him still.

“Rest until we can figure out how to fix your leg.” She looked over her shoulder. “How’s Remus?”

“I’m working on it,” Sirius said, “and I’d work a lot faster if you would fix my goddamn legs.”

“ _Anti-Wibble_ ,” she said, and pointed her wand at Sirius.

“You think that wasn’t the first thing I tried?” Sirius snapped at her.

“It was a silver light,” Regulus said, trying to be helpful.

Lily pressed a hand to her forehead. “Merlin, it’s been so long. I don’t remember.”

“Fine, we’ll figure it out later,” Sirius grumbled. “Get some dittany for Regulus’s leg, would you? None of my spells are working.”

Regulus watched Sirius press his wand into Remus’s chest. The blue end grew brighter and turned white, so brightly white, Regulus had to close his eyes until it faded. Then, Remus coughed once, and seemed perfectly fine. He drank something from a cup Sirius handed him.

“Much better,” Remus said with a sigh. “Your turn.”

“Lily’s face first,” Sirius said.

“I’m fine!” Lily’s voice shouted back from the kitchen. “Remus, try some Anti-Hex Charms.”

“Just don’t give me a bloody cat tail,” Sirius said as he laid down on the floor and Remus knelt beside him.

“I’m not James,” Remus said with a faint smile, and pressed his wand into the small of Sirius’s back.

While Remus ran through a series of Charms, Lily came back with a bottle of dittany and strips of linen. She dripped a bit of the dittany onto Regulus’s leg. The wound steamed, but it didn’t close. Lily swore.

She pressed the bandages against Regulus’s leg and began to wrap them around. It at least slowed the blood loss. 

“I don’t know how to stop the bleeding,” she sighed.

“We’ll figure it out,” Regulus said quietly. “It’s not the first time I’ve been an invalid on this couch.”

“When was the first time?” Sirius asked, then yelped. His left leg kicked against the floor. “Merlin’s saggy sac, Remus, the bloody hell was that?”

“Sorry, it wasn’t supposed to do that. Is your left leg working alright, now?”

“Yeah, but it feels like the knee’s on the wrong side. …. Remus, is my knee on the wrong side?”

Remus let out a very long sigh. “Lily, go check on Harry. Sirius is fine, and I’ll figure this out.”

Lily propped Regulus’s leg up with several pillows. “Are you sure?”

“Kreacher can get us anything we need,” Sirius said. “You should make sure Harry is alright.”

Lily looked at the three of them, clearly not convinced they could handle themselves. “You’ll be fine?”

“Yes,” Regulus said. “Thank you.”

She hesitated, but her worry over them surely paled in comparison to her worry for Harry. She left using the Floo in the kitchen.

Regulus was beginning to feel dizzy again, and he closed his eyes, hoping that might help readjust his equilibrium. It didn’t do very much. He heard Sirius yelp a few more times before there was a shout of triumph.

Finally, Regulus felt relief. Remus was alright, Sirius was alright, Lily and Harry were safe, and he… well, he was alive for now. That was more than Regulus had expected for the night of the Dark Lord’s return. Much, much more.

Sirius gave him another dose of Blood-Replenishing Potion and changed the bandages on his leg. He heard Sirius and Remus whispering to each other, clearly worried about something, but Regulus had no idea what. 

He didn’t know how much time passed, but Kreacher was there administering another dose of Blood-Replenishing Potion. Regulus wondered how many he was going to need before they figured out how to stop the bleeding in his leg. He wondered if there was enough in the cabinet to keep him alive, or if someone would have to make more. He knew Remus wasn’t very good at Potions, and he didn’t relish the idea of trusting his well-being to Sirius or Severus.

He slept lightly, woken at least twice more for potions, and once when someone changed the bandage on his legs. The third time he woke up was because of voices in the hallway.

“Of course you can use this place,” Sirius was saying. “It’s not good for much else.”

“And I can count on the both of you, as I did before?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

“Yes,” Sirius and Remus said at once.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d just like a short word with Regulus.”

“He’s sleeping,” Remus said, and Regulus was grateful. He didn’t really relish a talk with Dumbledore just now.

“It is urgent,” Dumbledore said, and Regulus heard the door to the parlor creak open. It clicked closed, and one pair of feet approached him.

Regulus forced himself to open his eyes and look up at Dumbledore. “Is Harry alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, though he did not look very pleased. 

Regulus didn’t exactly blame him. It had been a hard day for everyone. 

There was silence for a long moment until Dumbledore finally asked, “Why did you go to the graveyard?”

Regulus answered as honestly for Dumbledore as he had for Sirius. “To kill Lord Voldemort.”

“And you did not succeed.”

“No.”

“But you did kill Barty Crouch.”

Regulus bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Yes.”

“Did you go to the graveyard to kill Barty as well?”

“Yes.”

Dumbledore said nothing. The silence was almost worse than being reprimanded, and perhaps that’s why Dumbledore used it. Then, he said, very slowly, “There are people in this house who would be rather upset if you died. I would prefer you abstain from being so reckless in the future.”

Regulus had to laugh, a single, sharp note. “You’re only upset I can’t be a spy for you.” When Dumbledore said nothing, Regulus continued, “I am not one of your soldiers. I am not James or Sirius or Remus. I cannot take you at your word, I cannot follow your orders blindly, and I cannot put my faith in someone because you insist I must.”

Dumbledore stood. “Oh, I think you are quite like Sirius. More than you might want to be. If you do not wish to help in the fight against Voldemort, I will not force you to.”

“I never said that’s what I wanted.”

“Unfortunately,” Dumbledore said, “if I cannot expect you to trust in me, I do not know how I am supposed to trust in you. Standing against him alone is no fight you can win, and I think you know this.”

Of course Regulus knew that. That was why Regulus had been prepared to die sixteen years ago. That was why he’d been prepared to die tonight. There was no standing alone against Voldemort. He had tried, twice, and failed, twice. He hadn’t even managed to die. His only choice, then, was to stand with Dumbledore.

“You haven’t told James and Lily yet, have you?”

“No,” Dumbledore said, “I have not.”

“I can give you information, but I’ll be little good for much else.”

“That is enough,” Dumbledore said. “Thank you for your time. Rest well. We have a long fight ahead of us.”

And like that, Dumbledore was gone.

Sirius came in with another cup of potion for him.

“How long do I have to drink this?” Regulus asked. He was exhausted, and did not want to keep being woken every hour. He tried to adjust the position of his leg, not an easy task with how well Lily had propped it up, and something stuck into his backside. He reached into his robes and pulled out the wand he’d taken from Barty Crouch’s corpse.

“You’ll drink it until we figure out a way to close the hole in your leg,” Sirius said.

Regulus set the wand on the table and took the potion from Sirius. As he downed it, his body flooded with warmth and clarity. It was like a cup of tea on a cold afternoon. He only wished he wasn’t so cold in June.

“Could I see Remus?”

Sirius frowned. “What, I’m not good enough for you?”

“Not in the least.”

Sirius set the cup down and left. He came back with Remus. Remus took a seat next to Regulus, and Sirius remained standing in the doorframe, like a suspicious supervisor.

“What is it?” Remus asked. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, quite,” Regulus lied. He reached out for the wand on the table and handed it to Remus. “This is yours, isn’t it?”

Remus took it so tenderly, Regulus knew the answer was yes.

“Where--”

“I took it from Barty in the graveyard. I remembered he stole it from you that night at Hogwarts, didn’t he?”

“He picked it up when I dropped it,” Remus said with a grim expression. “Mr. Ollivander told me it might not work for him, but it seems….”

“Cedric,” Sirius said quietly from the doorway. “That’s why, isn’t it?”

“Why what?” Regulus asked.

“Oh,” Remus said. “Yes. That… that must be--Dumbledore told us what happened to Harry in the graveyard.” Remus paused to swallow a lump in his throat. “He told us Barty tried to kill Cedric, and the curse didn’t work. But if Barty was using my wand….”

“Which explains why Bertha Jorkins’s neck was broken,” Sirius said. “He tried to kill her and he couldn’t, because your wand wouldn’t let him.”

Regulus thought he saw tears pricking at the corner of Remus’s eyes, but Remus blinked and they went away.

“It’s yours again,” Regulus said, “and you can take it knowing it hasn’t killed anyone.”

“Thank you,” Remus said. “You… you’ve done so much for us tonight. I’m sorry we ever doubted you.”

“No,” Regulus said, “I deserved that.”

“You certainly did,” said Sirius. “I had faith in you when you told me you wanted revenge on Barty Crouch, that you had left Voldemort long before you went to Azkaban. It’s time you put a little faith in us.”

Regulus let out a deep breath. “Alright. I can try to do that.”

“Feels better to be on the right side of the war this time, doesn’t it?”

Regulus wasn’t sure that was it. Because he’d thought he was on the right side of the war last time. He’d thought so many things were right that he had to unlearn this last year. “I think,” he started slowly, “that it feels better to be on the same side as family.”

Remus smiled.

Sirius frowned, then begrudgingly admitted, “Yeah, yeah it does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons are always appreciated.
> 
> EDIT: If you have not read [Will and Won't](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6104434) yet, and want a sneak peek at Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, or just want to fill a gaping hole in your chest that can only be healed by Wolfstar, please read it before the end of October. I'll be taking it down on November 1st. It will need tweaking before it goes into The Half-Blood Prince, but the core if it will remain what it is, so if you need something before Christmas, that's all I have to give you.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated.


End file.
